


















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap.-Z^... Copyright No...., 
Slielf..,„-;4rC 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






I 



Carita 


p 



TWO fteCElVED 





2971 


Copyright, 1898, 

By Lamson, WolfFe and Company. 


All rights reserved. 


The Norwood Press 

y. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick ©* Smith 
Norwood^ Mass.y U.S.A. 


Contents 


Chapter 


Page 

I. 

“ La Reclusa Hermosa ” 

I 

II. 

Arthur Glynn’s Return . 

i8 

III. 

Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 

• 34 

IV. 

Los Destierros 

• 57 

V. 

What happened in the Church . 

• 75 

VI. 

The Padre’s Advice 

• 85 

VII. 

Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 

. 98 

VIII. 

In the Latticed Bower 

1 10 

IX. 

Capitan Zorilla 

1 26 

X. 

The Bait is Taken . 

• 141 

XI. 

Little Phil’s Adventure 

• 159 

XII. 

The Bandoleros 

. 178 

XIII. 

From Scylla to Charybdis 

• 193 

XIV. 

Death at Buena Esperanza 

208 

XV. 

The Bright Spot 

. 223 

XVI. 

“Wait for Me” . 

• 235 


V 


Carita 


I 

‘‘La Reclusa Hermosa ” 

I T was morning at Buena Esperanza. 

The old Cuban sugar plantation, once 
in harmony with its cheerful name, was 
now the abiding-place of despair rather 
than of the ‘ good hope ' of its first 
owners. The rich earth still nourished a 
riotous luxuriance of tropical vegetation, 
but giant weeds blossomed and ripened in 
lieu of grain. The vast cane fields were 
silent and deserted. Gone were the sad- 
visaged Chinese coolies, the merry, song- 
loving negroes, part free, part slave, who 
together had tilled the ground and reaped 
the harvest. The broad lands of Buena 
Esperanza were fast returning to a state 
of nature. 


2 


Carita 


But an inextinguishable beauty remained 
as a part of this scene of desolation. The 
long avenue of royal palms leading from 
the plantation gates to the old residencia, 
the great, umbrella-like ceiba trees, the 
delicate foliage of the tamarinds, the yel- 
low jasmine and the morning-glory clam- 
bering over tottering coral-rock fences 
and hedges of aloe and Spanish bayonet, 
the flamboyant whose gorgeous blossoms 
lay along the ground like sheeted flame, 
— all this was a continuing joy to the eye 
under that soft morning atmosphere and 
brilliant purple sky. 

The only outward sign of life was a 
middle-aged man of the peasant class who 
lazily ploughed a small patch of cultivated 
ground within a hedge of bitter orange. 
The plough was similar to the crude in- 
strument that has been used in Egypt for 
some three thousand years, being little 
more than the crooked branch of a tree, 
attached by a rope to the head of a sleepy 
ox, and succeeding in raking out a furrow 


“La Reclusa Hermosa '' 


3 


only an inch or so in depth. The plough- 
man was small, wrinkled, swarthy, with a 
manner scarcely more alert than that of 
his faithful beast. Occasionally, however, 
he looked up defiantly at the jeering crows 
as they sailed across the little field. 

Nearing the bottom of the field, he 
stopped suddenly, startled, as the ringing 
of a small bell was heard in a grove of 
orange trees beyond the hedge just in 
front of him. In the midst of this 
grove, at a point where a cocoanut-palm 
towered above its surroundings, his search- 
ing eye discerned the indistinct outlines 
of a human figure, apparently clothed 
in red. At the same moment the bell 
was again rung, more loudly than before, 
whereupon the laborer hastily let go of 
the plough and hurried across the field, 
crossing himself as he went. Not until 
he reached the opposite hedge did he 
pause and look round. 

“ Don Ignacio walks out in open day,” 
he had muttered, wonderingly. “Nuestra 


4 


Carita 


Senora de Cobre protect us all ! ” he now 
exclaimed, piously invoking the patron 
saint of the island. “ El amo is restless, 
and Pablo must be careful,'* he added. 

Pablo was careful. He stood motion- 
less by the hedge until the same bell rang 
again, this time in the shrubbery in the 
rear of the residencia. Even then several 
minutes passed before he ventured to re- 
turn to his plough. 

Within a stone's throw of the patch of 
cultivated ground, in a bower of shade 
trees, slumbered the residencia, a wide, 
low, massive building of yellowish porous 
stone. Its walls were three feet thick. 
It was built in two stories around a quad- 
rangular patio, or court, and a broad 
veranda extended across its front. 

Although Buena Esperanza as a whole 
was a desolate scene, the patio of the 
residencia indicated constant and intel- 
ligent care. The little coral tree that 
grew there, the fan -palms, the oleanders, 
the red and white roses, the love vine, the 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa ” 


5 


galan de noche, drooped not for want of 
water nor looked in need of pruning. A 
stone-paved, cloister-like gallery, on a 
level with the ground, looked out upon 
two sides of the court, and another, more 
open and with an ornamented balustrade, 
ran all the way around on a level with the 
second story, adding to the Oriental at- 
mosphere of the scene. 

This inviting patio was now graced by 
the presence of a lady, young and fair, 
and clothed in pure white, who sat among 
the flowering shrubs on a rustic bench 
reading from a book of prayers. Her 
raven hair was typical of her country, but 
the clear white of her delicate shapely face 
indicated no commingling with other than 
the purest Castilian blood. Although her 
eyes — the crowning beauty of every face — 
were now in shadow, such was the charm 
of her expression, her unstudied pose, the 
lovely contours of her figure, that in- 
voluntary admiration would have been 
awakened in the most careless beholder. 


6 


Carita 


Suddenly, at the faint sound of a bell, 
she looked up hurriedly toward a closed 
door which gave upon the upper gallery 
at the farther end of the court. Then, as 
if reassured, her eyes wandered absently 
over the patio and settled again upon her 
book, — eyes that were remarkable even 
in Cuba, where beautiful eyes are common. 
They were large, dark, lustrous, with a 
dash of languor in them, and a faint but 
settled expression of sadness. This ex- 
pression seemed to deepen in them as they 
were again raised and fixed upon the deli- 
cate tendrils of the love vine, that curious 
aerial creeper, clinging to a shrub within 
reach of her hand. 

‘‘ No, dear little vine,’' she muttered in 
the softest of voices, as if in answer to a 
spoken appeal, you are not for me. The 
commonest peasant, the poorest negro or 
coolie, may love, but Carita Ramirez — 
never, never ! ” 

As she uttered the last words a heavy 
sigh lifted the white frills of lace on her 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa 


7 


bosom, and she glanced hurriedly back 
into her book, beginning to recite a prayer 
in whispers. She was interrupted by a 
lady who now appeared on the gallery 
above, a lady of somewhat advanced age, 
with deep wrinkles about the eyes, and a 
settled olive hue in the complexion which 
no amount of cascarilla could disguise. 
She was smoking, with evident relish, a 
cigar of a pronounced maduro tint. 

“ Carita mia, I think it is time for his 
coffee,” she said, removing her cigar and 
speaking in subdued tones. 

‘‘Yes, Josefina,” was the answer of the 
lady in the court, who rose promptly, 
shutting her book. 

“And it will soon be time to start,” 
continued the other. “ Pablo will be 
ready with the volante as soon as we can 
dress. Pablo is ploughing this morning,” 
she added. 

Answering, “ Muy bien, Josefina cara,” 
Carita Ramirez crossed the court and 
entered one of the lower apartments of 


8 


Carita 


the house. A few minutes later she ap- 
peared on the upper gallery, carrying a 
tray on which were cigars, coffee, a dish 
of sliced pine-apple, a peeled orange, and 
some thin slices of wheaten bread. Fol- 
lowing the gallery around until she reached 
a point overlooking that extremity of the 
court most distant from the place where 
she had been sitting, the tray was set 
down on a stand at the door toward which 
she had recently glanced apprehensively 
on hearing the sound of a bell. After 
rapping twice, she turned, retraced her 
steps, and disappeared in one of the re- 
mote apartments of the house. 

It was perhaps two minutes later when 
the door upon which she had knocked 
was slowly opened, accompanied by the 
ringing of a small bell, and a human figure 
seemingly clothed in red quickly reached 
forth a hand, took the tray in, and was 
gone, the door then being promptly closed. 

Pablo soon finished his ploughing. It 
was Sunday, and the task which he had 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa ” 


9 


appointed for the early hours of the day 
was light. He must now don his best 
clothes and attend the ladies with the 
volante. At nine o'clock, arrayed in 
a new straw hat and a linen shirt, the 
skirt of which hung outside his trousers, 
he appeared in front of the residencia 
with the curious national vehicle to which 
two horses were harnessed, one between 
the long fifteen-foot shafts, the other 
outside, to stout traces. Pablo himself 
rode the outside horse in the capacity of 
postilion. 

The volante is a ponderous and clumsy- 
looking carriage, but the chaise-like body 
which swings low on leather braces be- 
tween the enormous wheels is a very haven 
of comfort. No matter how many deep 
ruts and huge stones may be encoun- 
tered on the terrible Cuban country 
roads, the body of the volante sways 
gently back and forth, is never upset, and 
gives one the impression of floating on a 
cloud. 


lO 


Carita 


In due time the ladies appeared and 
took their seats, having now exchanged 
their white house-dresses for deep black, 
even the soft lace mantillas draped over 
their heads and shoulders being of the 
same sombre hue. The clear white face of 
Carita Ramirez, innocent of rouge or pow- 
der, was scarcely less beautiful than when 
she sat among the flowers of the patio, 
but the elder lady, the Senora Duran, 
looked ghastly, her dark sallow face being 
thickly pasted over with cascarilla. 

I know I shall want to smoke before 
we return,*' the Senora remarked discon- 
tentedly, as they drove down the avenue 
of royal palms. 

She spoke with the intonation and man- 
ner of an educated person, as did also the 
younger woman at her side. 

‘‘ I fear you smoke too much, Josefina,” 
was the gentle response. “It is bad for 
the nerves.” 

“ I smoke too much, indeed ! I who 
strictly limit myself to six cigars a day 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa ** 1 1 

and a few trifling cigarettes ! ” the Seiiora 
retorted indignantly. 

‘‘ It seems much to me.” 

“ Six cigars ? It is nothing.” The 
Sehora clearly regarded herself as an ob- 
ject-lesson in stern self-denial. ‘‘ Some 
people smoke three times as many. 
When you learn to smoke, Carita,” she 
continued, “you wUl understand what a 
comfort it is to me in the life we lead. I 
can at least smoke, gracias a Dios ! ” 

“ I have no desire to learn,” was the 
indifferent answer. 

They passed out of the avenue and 
drove on over rough roads, between 
hedges of aloe and Spanish bayonet, past 
luxuriant fields and groves, the land slop- 
ing upward to low hills on their left, 
where stately palm trees, standing solitary 
or in groups, were gracefully outlined 
against the purple sky. The landscape 
glistened in the intense sunshine. There 
was not a cloud in any quarter ; but 
half an hour later, on looking over his 


12 


Carita 


shoulder, and seeing a gray striated haze 
against the sky, Pablo placidly remarked : 
‘‘ It rains at Buena Esperanza/' The 
ladies were in no wise concerned. It 
might rain out of a seemingly clear sky 
half a mile to the east or the west of 
them at any moment. 

A drive of two miles brought them to 
the small interior town of San Jose. The 
low massive buildings were all constructed 
of the same porous stone, colored by a 
wash, the predominating tint being a 
dingy yellow, although white, pink, and 
even pale blue were represented. The 
shops and bodegas were open as on other 
days of the week, and some of them, the 
latter especially, were crowded. The 
solemnity of the Puritan Sunday is un- 
heard of in Cuba. The most prominent 
building near the centre of the town was 
the church, however, and here Pablo 
reined his horses and the ladies alighted. 

Among numerous persons loitering 
about the entrance were two young ca- 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa 


13 


balleros in Panama hats and spotless linen 
from top to toe, the native bronze of 
their faces being artificially lightened by 
an application of cascarilla. Their atten- 
tion was at once centred upon the younger 
of the two ladies who had descended from 
the volante, and one of them, touching 
the shoulder of the smaller and hand- 
somer of the two, who was conspicuous 
for a sash of a delicate lilac hue worn 
about his waist, exclaimed in subdued 
tones : — 

See, Sebastiano, it is she, la reclusa 
hermosa ! ” 

The handsome little Sebastiano evi- 
dently did not need to be told that it 
was the fair recluse ; his eyes hung upon 
her face, oblivious of all else, and he 
involuntarily moved a few steps toward 
her as if drawn by a magnet. Her for- 
ward glance met him and passed on in- 
stantly, leaving him in the act of doffing 
his hat and bowing with an air of the 
profoundest devotion. 


14 


Carita 


‘‘Ah, Carlos, mi amigo, she will not 
even look at me,** he said bitterly, turn- 
ing to his friend, his black eyes glowing 
with the fire of wounded pride if not 
wounded love. 

“ She is not human,** whispered Carlos. 
“ Any woman would have looked at you, 
were she maid, wife, or widow.** 

“ Whether she be human or not, she 
is divinely fair,** sighed Sebastiano. 

“ She is either a cold Diana, a religiosa, 
or there is another good reason why she 
cares not to look at you, this reclusa. 
You know it is said that Zorilla has been 
seen at Buena Esperanza. He can go, 
it appears, where no one else is admitted ; 
she has chosen his lordship, the bandit.** 

On the other side of the portico two 
women of the lower class had also watched 
the arrival of the young girl and the Se- 
nora. 

“ They come from Buena Esperanza,** 
said one, as both stared hard. “ The 
Senorita looks gentle and good, and yet 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa ” 


15 


the devil dwells with them there, they 
tell me, Elvira/* 

“Yes, I have heard. He walks in red, 
this devil. So says Enrique, the friend 
of Pablo.** 

Meanwhile, Carita Ramirez and her 
elderly guardian entered the church and 
hastened to their places, for their friend 
the cura, the good Padre Serrano, had 
begun the mass. 

The church was small and the interior 
mean compared with the larger edifices 
of the same type in Havana. There was 
much crudity and color in the decorations, 
which, aside from the pictures, consisted 
largely of artificial flowers in the form of 
crosses and stars, and long strips of 
crimson cloth bordered with gold which 
hung here and there against the walls and 
pillars. 

Only a small congregation assisted at 
the mass, and the two ladies from Buena 
Esperanza were evidently among the most 
devout. When it was over they waited. 


i6 


Carita 


after the majority of the people were 
gone, until the cura appeared and sought 
speech with them. There was little of 
the atmosphere of the ascetic about the 
round, good-humored face of Padre Ser- 
rano, although there was a certain gravity 
in the expression of his kind, black eyes. 

“ Buenas dias ! he said cheerily, as he 
drew near. He shifted a curious bundle 
wrapped in a handkerchief of yellow silk 
from his right to his left arm, so that he 
might shake hands. This is my most 
spirited bird,'* he explained, referring to 
the bundle, and freely told them that he 
was shortly due at a neighboring cockpit, 
where the said bird was to fight for a stake 
of no inconsiderable amount. The incon- 
gruity between churchmen and cockpits 
did not seem to occur to either himself 
or his companions. 

The Senora now remarked that few peo- 
ple had attended church that day. 

“ Yes, yes," sighed Padre Serrano ; the 
church is empty and the jail is full." He 


“ La Reclusa Hermosa 


17 

seemed to forget that the cockpit would 
soon be full also. 

“ And Buena Esperanza/’ he continued, 
looking at Carita Ramirez, ‘‘ how is it 
there ? 

“It is well,” she answered, her beauti- 
ful, sad eyes fixed earnestly upon him. 
“ At least, it is no worse.” 

“ I shall be with you soon,” the Padre 
then promised. “ Don Ignacio must be 
shriven.” He looked around him cau- 
tiously before he pronounced this name. 

The two gallants in spotless linen still 
lingered about the entrance of the church, 
but they were again disappointed when the 
two ladies appeared. The Senora for a 
moment regarded them critically, but her 
charge was to all appearances oblivious of 
their existence, and the volante carried 
away with it no less of tantalizing mystery 
than it had brought. 


II 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 

I NTO Havana’s beautiful harbor, under 
the battlements of La Punta on the 
right and the frowning Moro Castle on 
the left, steamed a proud vessel carrying 
the American flag. 

Not to be soon forgotten is the picture 
presented to the approaching ship of 
Spain’s ‘‘siempre fiel isla de Cuba,” — the 
author of this expression was not satirical, 
howsoever it may sound in these days of 
insurrections ! The frowning fortresses 
with floating colors of red and yellow, — 
once Spain’s terrible banner of blood and 
gold, — the splendid harbor crowded with 
ships of every nation, the city with its 
multitude of churches and Moorish-like 
domes, its tinted stone mansions gleaming 

i8 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


19 


in the intense light, the background of 
green hills, the stately palm trees here and 
there, — altogether form one of the rarest 
and most picturesque scenes in the two 
Americas. It belongs rather to the Medi- 
terranean’s shores than within a hundred 
miles of Florida, the southern shores at 
that, although Cuba, in scene if not in art, 
is the Italy of the New World. 

Foreign vessels as a rule are not allowed 
to touch the wharves, and the American 
steamer cast anchor in the middle of the 
harbor, there awaiting the arrival of the 
health officers. Permission being given 
them to land, the passengers gazed curi- 
ously and somewhat anxiously down at 
the dozen or so of small boats crowding 
alongside, each representing some Havana 
hotel and each with a crier whose lungs 
appeared to be less robust than those 
of the determined American hackman. 
“ Inglaterra ! — Telegrafo ! — Roma ! — 
Pasaje ! — San Carlos ! — Cubano ! ” were 
the more insistent cries. 


20 


Carita 


Among the passengers standing on the 
deck was a young man of twenty-three or 
four, whose appearance was in striking con- 
trast with that of the average dark, under- 
sized Cuban. He stood full six feet in his 
stockings, was fair of face, and had light 
hair, blue eyes, and a young but vigorous, 
hay-colored mustache. To this seeming 
representative of a colder clime the pictur- 
esque harbor and city were indeed novel, 
yet in every point familiar. An American 
by birth and heritage, Arthur Glynn had, 
nevertheless, grown up in Cuba and was 
now returning to his home after an absence 
of more than four years spent largely at 
the Johns Hopkins University at Balti- 
more. 

Ordering his baggage to be brought 
after him, he was about to descend to one 
of the boats, when a voice from below 
arrested him. 

‘‘ Hola ! Don Arturo Gleen ! Hold, 
— descend not, Don Artoor, until my 
boat approach.” 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


21 


Arthur Glynn stepped back, having 
recognized a friend in a private boat which 
was awaiting its turn to come within 
reach of the hanging stairway. The 
friend was one Don Alfredo Rodriguez, 
a Cuban gentleman who resided on a 
sugar plantation in the neighborhood of 
the interior town of San Jose, at no great 
distance from the young Americo-Cuban’s 
own boyhood’s home. 

“ Buenas tardes, Senor Rodriguez ! ” 
cried the young man, well pleased. 

“ Gude evaning! How eez you’ health ? ” 
responded the Cuban, preferring to speak 
English, his uncertain knowledge of which 
was a source of enormous pride to him. 

Although a Cuban of pure blood, Don 
Alfredo was almost as brown as an Indian. 
His sparkling black eyes and bold profile 
were attractive, and he bore himself with 
a pleasing air of grace and dignity. He 
was doubtless past thirty, his undersized 
frame having become a little stoutish and 
an occasional gray hair being visible in his 


22 


Carita 


vigorous black locks. His boat, like all 
the others, was in part covered by an 
arched lattice -work of wood (over which 
an awning is thrown in bad weather), sug- 
gesting a chicken-coop or the canvas- 
covered wagon of the American frontier 
with the canvas left off. 

‘‘ How did you know I was on the F/or- 
ida ? ” asked Arthur Glynn, stepping into 
the boat and shaking the planter’s hand. 

“ The news arrive to me as I go to 
Havana yesterday.” 

“ And how are they all at the dear old 
Destierros ? ” 

‘‘ Muy bien. The Seohra Gleen eez 
well, also Mees Ray, also the little boy 
Felipe. They wait in haste to see you. 
But no train go to San Jose before to- 
morrow, I regret.” 

“ I ‘ wait in haste ’ to see them, too,” 
rejoined Arthur Glynn, with a twitching 
about the corners of his mouth ; “ but as 
there’s no help for it, a night in Havana 
will not be hard to bear.” 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


23 


Landing, they took a victoria and drove 
to the hotel Pasaje in the Prado, where 
Don Alfredo was staying. Arthur Glynn 
had been absent from Cuba long enough 
to take an interest in looking about him. 
How different it all was from America, — 
almost like another world and certainly 
like another century. The narrow streets, 
the variously tinted stone houses, the 
huge barred windows without glass or 
curtains, the dark Cubans, the women in 
their graceful mantillas, the miserable 
Chinese beggars, the ubiquitous lottery- 
ticket vendor, the slatternly negresses 
with cheap cigars in their mouths, coun- 
trymen leading mules laden with stalks 
of young green corn and other produce 
for sale, — there was no end of strange 
sights and sounds ! 

Having seen his young friend comfort- 
ably installed at the Pasaje, toward sunset 
Don Alfredo invited him out for a drive in 
the Paseo de Carlos III, the fashionable 
paseo of Havana, in order that they might 


24 


Carita 


view the gay procession of carriages filled 
with matronly senoras and beauteous 
black-eyed sehoritas, all in evening dress, 
waving jewelled fans, and casting coquettish 
glances at the bowing caballeros. At dark 
the two friends returned to the hotel for 
dinner. The dining-hall was graced by 
the presence of many ladies, but smoking 
was continuous, not only while lingering 
over the wine or coffee, but between the 
courses of the meal itself 

Later, after a stroll in the Plaza de 
Isabella, where all classes of the Havanese 
appear of a balmy evening and sit and 
chat and promenade while listening to 
the music of a band, the two friends went 
the round of the prominent play-houses, 
a proceeding more reasonable than may 
be supposed, in view of the fact that the 
majority of the performances were of the 
variety type, and that tickets were sold for 
each act separately. At the great Tacon 
opera house they heard a portion of the 
never-dying Trovatore, at the Peyret they 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


25 


witnessed a one-act comedy, at the Albisu 
and Irijoa a ballet and some extraordinary 
feats of legerdemain. 

‘‘And now the Alhambra,” said Don 
Alfredo at half-past eleven. He added 
that, for his part, he did not approve of 
the Alhambra, but all the men went there. 
So now did these two, and saw a dance 
that could hardly be matched in the wild- 
est Parisian cafe-chant ant, 

Arthur Glynn came away regretful, his 
thoughts gladly returning to the opposite 
of what he had seen. He felt thankful 
that the pure and the sacred triumphantly 
existed in spite of the other. 

At midnight the shops as well as the 
cafes were still open and brilliantly lighted. 
Seated in one of the latter opposite the 
Plaza de Isabella, the two friends watched 
the gay men and women who were con- 
gregated there drinking coffee or light 
wines, and smoking, smoking, smoking ! 
Under the influence of his glass the 
friendly Don lost that watch and ward 


26 


Carita 


over himself which would otherwise have 
guarded a secret. 

“ Your cousin, Mees Ray,** he said, with 
a kindling eye and an affectionate glance 
at his companion, — you have not yet 
see her, I think ; she eez — ah, yes — 
beautiful I ** 

I am glad of that,** said Arthur, smil- 
ing. “ Is that the lay of the land ? ** he 
mentally commented. “ Then this dear 
old Don is to be my rival, for my mothers 
heart is set on having my cousin Mabel 
marry me^ 

“ What of our neighbors at Buena Es- 
peranza ** he went on to ask, preferring 
to change the subject. 

Did he not know they had failed and 
gone away long since ? Buena Esperanza 
was now a scene of desolation. There 
were some people living in the residencia, 
however, — strange people. 

‘‘ Who are they ? ** 

Don Alfredo lifted his broad shoulders 
in a shrug. That was a mystery. There 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


27 


now lived there an elderly woman who 
was said to call herself the Sehora Duran, 
a man-servant, one Pablo, who answered 
all questions with a solemn shake of the 
head, and a beautiful young girl or woman 
known as Carita Ramirez ; but whether 
she were maid, wife, or widow, no one had 
definitely ascertained. The two ladies 
went nowhere and made no friends, ap- 
pearing in public at rare intervals, and 
then only at church. Such persons as 
had ventured to call were not encouraged 
to repeat the experiment. Those of the 
fair sex were received by the Sehora, who 
volunteered no information and expressed 
no desire to see them again ; the men were 
met by Pablo, who oflFered them aguar- 
diente, but failed to satisfy their curiosity. 
At present no person whatsoever vent- 
ured upon the estate except the cura, 
the ladies’ confessor ; but Padre Serrano, 
though he kept fighting cocks and was 
not strait-laced, would not talk. 

The mystery was complicated by the 


28 


Carita 


presence of an unknown man, who lived 
at the silent residencia and never appeared 
at all. Only once had he been seen, and 
then from a distance by a friend of Pablo's, 
who reported that he was dressed in red. 
The peasantry had long since declared 
that the devil resided at Buena Esperanza, 
and they gave the place a wide berth. 

‘‘ And what do you suppose is the mean- 
ing of all this ? " asked Arthur Glynn. 

Don Alfredo shrugged again, remark- 
ing that he troubled himself with no sup- 
positions. He disliked to inquire into 
the privacy of others. All that in any 
way concerned him, all that he could 
vouch for, was the beauty of the younger 
lady. He had seen her once at church, 
and the common report that she was un- 
usually handsome had been fully verified. 

‘‘Well, but," insisted Arthur, “when 
people behave in that way, they must 
expect their neighbors to talk. I am in- 
clined to suspect, from what you have 
said, that the unknown is an escaped 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


29 


criminal in hiding in the bosom of his 
family.” 

Don Alfredo thought he might be that, 
or he might be a fiction altogether, made 
use of to cover up another matter — the 
matter of Zorilla’s visits. One suggestion 
that had been made was that the beautiful 
recluse was the wife — or the friend, per- 
haps — of Zorilla. There was a farm- 
laborer who swore he had seen Zorilla at 
Buena Esperanza late one night. 

“ And who is Zorilla ? ” 

‘‘ What ! have they not heard of An- 
tonio Zorilla in America ? ” exclaimed Don 
Alfredo, his interest in the topic so great 
that he had forgotten his labored English, 
and fallen into correct Spanish. ‘‘ He was 
one of the most daring of the sub-leaders 
under Carlos Manuel de Cespedes in the 
last rebellion, which, as you know, began 
in 1868, and ended, or was supposed to 
have ended, in 1876.” 

‘‘ Oh, yes. I was a youngster at the 
time. I remember now to have heard of 


30 


Carita 


him,” said Arthur, “ but that is long ago. 
Eight years of war have now been suc- 
ceeded by nine years of peace.'' 

Peace ! " ejaculated Don Alfredo, 
lowering his voice and looking about 
him cautiously. Satisfied that he was not 
overheard, he went on to say that there 
had been no real peace in Cuba for sixty 
years. There was an attempted revolu- 
tion in 1823, another in 1826, another in 
1828, and from 1848 to 1850 Narciso 
Lopez, who was afterward executed, kept 
alive a serious rebellion. From 1868 to 
1876 Cuba was in a chronic state of civil 
war, the patriot forces being led by Ces- 
pedes, who was seconded by Zorilla and 
other bold spirits. A measure of quiet 
was restored in '76, after Spain had spent 
millions, sacrificed the lives of more than 
a hundred and fifty thousand men, and 
after promises of liberal concessions, which, 
as usual, were never fulfilled. But this was 
only a forced acquiescence, not a real peace. 

Don Alfredo went on to say that. 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


31 


moreover, there had been roving bands 
of insurgents in existence since 1876, 
causing the authorities serious annoyance 
and leading them at times to make vigorous 
attempts toward their entire suppression. 
The mountains and more or less inacces- 
sible forests of the eastern district still 
served to secrete many armed and dis- 
affected people, the news of whose fre- 
quent outbreaks the press of the ever- 
faithful isle” was forbidden to publish. 
There were strongholds that had not 
been captured and had been for years 
the resort of runaway slaves and escaped 
criminals as well as the few regular in- 
surgents who still refused to yield. These 
together, at the present time, formed a 
roving community of several hundred 
desperate men who, divided into small 
bands, made predatory raids upon travel- 
lers and rich and loyal planters in order 
to keep themselves supplied with neces- 
saries other than those so generously 
afforded by prolific nature. There were. 


32 


Carita 


indeed, some bands of brigands pure and 
simple who made war for plunder, even 
resorting to the holding of prisoners for 
ransom. It had long been necessary, 
therefore, to carry arms for self-defence 
on the country roads in various districts, 
and even the peasant class wore swords 
when carrying their produce to market. 

Up to the present time these lawless 
bands had usually been strong enough to 
repel the detachments of regulars sent 
to overwhelm them, but the fighting was 
of the most bloodthirsty and implacable 
character, no quarter being asked or given 
by either side. This continued resistance 
served to keep alive the hopes of the 
insurgent element, desperate as was the 
cause which only outlaws, escaped crimi- 
nals, and slaves still dared openly to sup- 
port. In spite of strict surveillance, arms 
and ammunition were frequently smug- 
gled to these men by sympathizing Cubans 
resident in Florida. 

‘‘ Zorilla and his band,” continued Don 


Arthur Glynn’s Return 


33 


Alfredo, ‘‘are now said to be located in 
the mountains not thirty miles from your 
home, the Destierros, the authorities hav- 
ing failed utterly in their efforts to sup- 
press him. The loyal call him a bandit, 
the insurgent element a patriot at bay. 
The sympathy of so many is his surest 
safeguard, no doubt. When he does not 
feel strong enough to meet the force sent 
against him, he shifts his position from 
one retreat to another, travelling by night 
and lying in the chaparral by day. He 
has resorts in many different quarters, and 
has been seen even in the Isle of Pines. 
This, at least, is the common talk, which I 
merely repeat to you.” 

“ And this is the man who dares to 
visit the ‘ fair recluse ’ by night ? ” 

“So says report; but who can tell? 
Come,” said Don Alfredo, rising, “ let us 
to bed.” 

And so they left the still bustling cafe, 
and walked arm in arm toward their hotel 
at one o’clock in the morning. 


Ill 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 
HEN Arthur Glynn stepped from 



V V the train at San Jose about the 
middle of the following afternoon, he 
found a volante awaiting him in charge 
of a negro whose face was associated with 
his earliest recollections. Willis — Sehor 
Willis Glynn he called himself among 
the negroes, coolies, and white laborers 
connected with the Destierros plantation 
— was an old attache and faithful friend 
of the family, having emigrated with them 
from the States to Cuba as a boy of six- 
teen immediately after the Civil War, now 
twenty years gone. Neither the lapse of 
time, nor his marriage with a native black 
woman, nor his fatherly relations toward a 
numerous Spanish-speaking progeny had 


34 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 35 


succeeded in alienating Willis from his 
loyalty to American customs and the 
English language as he chose to speak it. 
Nor had all these influences been power- 
ful enough to weaken his early and fine 
contempt for “dese yuh Spanish white 
folks ” or ‘‘ dese yuh Spanish niggers.” 
He remained to the last ‘‘ an American.” 

Willis was one of the blackest of 
negroes, with typical features, characteris- 
tic good humor, and was distinguished by 
an intelligence quite remarkable when this 
was contrasted with the stupidity of the 
average native black, or of the miserable 
imported coolies, or even of the peasant 
class of Cubans. And he was fully con- 
scious of his superiority. 

Well, who ever seen de like ! ” he 
exclaimed, as Arthur Glynn appeared. 
“Why, Mas’ Arthur, what a fine young 
gen’leman you is got to be ! Yo’ ma 
gwine to be proud to look at you. She 
sho’ is. You gwine to show dese low-life 
Cubans what a rale gen’leman is, I tell 


36 


Carita 


you ! Dass de sort o* gentleman we 
turn out dere at home in Maryland, 
dat is/' 

“ I'm afraid these ^ low-life Cubans' have 
taught you the art of flattery, anyhow, 
Willis," said the young man, smiling and 
taking his seat in the volante. 

This accusation only served to convulse 
the negro with delighted laughter. ‘‘ I 
tellin' you de honest trufe. Mas' Arthur, 
I is ! " he ejaculated. Willis had learned 
to use the abbreviated form of ‘‘master" 
in his early youth, and after emigrating 
to a country where slavery still existed, 
although he clearly understood that he 
himself was a free man, he had seen no 
reason for revising his original method 
of addressing his superiors. 

“Well, and how are they all at the 
Destierros ^ " asked Arthur, as soon as 
they were clear of the noisy station and 
the volante was rolling through the quiet 
town, Willis being mounted on one of the 
horses according to custom and frequently 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 37 


casting admiring glances over his shoulder 
at the occupant of the vehicle. 

“ I reckon yo’ ma putty well/' was the 
answer, “ but she got a sight o' things to 
worry her and I kin see she frets power- 
ful. We's had a heap o' trouble at de 
Destierros sense de boss died. Managin' 
all dem niggers and coolies and getherin' 
and shippin' de sugar crap ain't no fun. 
We's needed you bad and it's a mighty 
good thing you's come." 

“ Yes, I suppose so," rejoined Arthur 
Glynn, with an absent look and a heavy 
sigh. The mention of the master of the 
Destierros el amo " he was styled by 
the native laborers) reminded the home- 
returning son that he was to see his dear 
father no more. 

Miss Mabel she well," continued 
Willis ; “ she ain't got de 'sponsibility and 
don' worry like yo' ma do. Look like to 
me she have a good time wisitin’ and all 
dat. She go to de Limoneros constant. 
Dat Doha Isabel come a-runnin' over for 


38 


Carita 


*er in dey volante all de time. 'Tain’t 
none o’ my business, but look like Don 
Alfredo is sparkin’ Miss Mabel and yo’ 
ma don’ like it. But dat don’ bodder 
me. I know none o’ our family ain’t 
gwine lower deyself to marry none o’ dese 
yuh Cubans. For all dey grand ways, 
dese Dons can’t hold a candle to de 
’Merican gen’leman.” 

Remarks from a servant that would 
ordinarily have been taken as a gross 
impertinence, were in this case received 
in the friendly spirit which animated 
them. The black man’s devotion to 
these strangers in a strange land had been 
so constant and so useful during many 
years that he had become, and had been 
freely accorded the position of, a privileged 
character. 

‘‘You set a standard for us,” laughed 
Arthur, “ that you failed to stick to your- 
self. You married a native woman.” 

“ Shoo ! ” cried Willis, with a loud 
guffaw and the African’s overdone shrug. 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 39 


‘‘ Dass difFunt. I ain’t white folks, and 
den you-all kin go to Maryland to find 
somebody to marry, and I can’t.” 

They were now in the open country, 
the road bordered here by crumbling stone 
walls, there by hedges of aloe, bitter 
orange, and Spanish bayonet. In a corn 
field on their right a swarthy native was 
sleepily ploughing with an ox after the 
prevailing method. Willis pointed to him 
in great scorn. 

“ Now des look at dat fool mulatto 
nigger ploughin’ wid dat stick ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ Ain’t got gumption enough 
to git a sho-nuf plough. Dey’s all alike. 
Dey’s seen how we-all plough dere at de 
Destierros ever sense we come yuh, but 
dey can’t larn nothin’.” 

‘‘ He’s not a mulatto ; he’s a white 
man.” 

“ I reckon he ses-so,** Willis rejoined, 
with another shrug. It was possible to 
comprehend, and he was willing enough 
to admit, that Don Alfredo Rodriguez and 


40 


Carita 


his class were white men, but to Willis the 
dirty, swarthy farm laborers were from the 
beginning and would never be more than 
‘‘ mulatto niggers ” pure and simple. 

“You have said nothing about Phil,” 
suggested Arthur. 

“You won’t know him, he’s growd so. 
Tell you what, Phil’s gittin’ to be a 
mighty big little man dese days. Smart 
ain’t no name for it ; he’s sharp as a 
razor. He wanted to come to meet you, 
but yo’ ma wouldn’t ’low it. She was 
’fraid de storm might ketch us, and I 
reckon it will git yuh fo’ night.” 

Arthur glanced at the clear, purple skies 
on either hand. “ It doesn’t look threat- 
ening,” he said. 

“ Ain’t you tuck notice how still it is ?” 

It was even so. Arthur promptly 
noted that not a leaf stirred, not even in 
the upper branches of the tallest palms, 
whose feathery crests were usually dan- 
cing in the sway of the lightest breeze. 
The intense stillness gradually became 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 41 


almost painful. The atmosphere grew 
strangely transparent, objects at a great 
distance seeming to be more clearly out- 
lined than ever before. All nature ap- 
peared to be restless and expectant. The 
cry of the wild guinea-fowl was heard no 
more, the little yellow tomiguin ceased 
its merry chirp, and the noisy paroquet 
scudded in silence from tree to tree. 
The buzzard had ceased its high sailing, 
and anxiously sought a safe perch. The 
horses whinnied and sniffed the air. It 
was not long before field-workers were 
seen hurrying homeward with howling 
dogs at their heels. 

“ It is coming,” said Arthur anxiously, 
and Willis whipped up his already hurry- 
ing horses, careless of the deep ruts and 
huge stones in the road. 

‘‘ Sho* gwine to cotch us fo* we git 
home,” remarked the negro a few mo- 
ments later. Great clouds were now 
rapidly covering the heavens. 

There's no help for it ; we'll have to 


42 


Carita 


stop on the way. Turn in at that place 
ahead of us.'* 

Look yuh, don* less stop dere if we 
kin help it. Dey tell me de devil stays 
dere. Dat’s Buena Esperanza." 

‘‘Why, so it is. Well — better face 
the devil than the cyclone." 

“Don* know 'bout dat," said the negro 
dubiously. 

He seemed really disposed to argue the 
matter, but at this juncture his keen eye 
took note that certain tall palms far away 
on the hills to the right had bent forward 
as if before the first breath of the storm. 
A moment later they reached the foot 
of the Buena Esperanza avenue, and he 
guided his horses into it. Up between 
the long rows of palms the volante 
whirled recklessly, and presently stopped 
short. Arthur leaped out, sprang upon 
the veranda, and knocked loudly on the 
door of the silent residencia. 

During half a minute that seemed a 
quarter of an hour there was no answer. 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 43 

Meanwhile a hoarse roaring, ever increas- 
ing in volume, was heard from the forests 
on the hills. Willis had alighted and be- 
gun to unhitch his horses, when the door 
at last partly opened and the face of the 
Sehora Duran was seen, inhospitable and 
troubled in its aspect. 

What would you ? ” she asked in 
mellifluous Spanish. 

“ The temporal is upon us, and we seek 
shelter.*' 

She seemed to waver for a moment, and 
then answered : “ But strangers never come 
here. You may be imprisoned for twenty- 
four hours, and that would be an awkward 
matter. Have you not time to reach the 
Limoneros ^ It is not far." 

“ I hope so, for I shall not stay here 
to trouble you," said Arthur Glynn, turn- 
ing away with an expression of disgust. 

He ran down the steps and leaped into 
the volante, ordering the negro to mount 
and drive away. But he had no sooner 
done so than there came a great howling 


44 


Carita 


rush of air that bent the palm trees low, 
well-nigh overturned the volante, threw 
the door wide, and went roaring and 
shrieking into the chambers of the resi- 
dencia. In the momentary lull after the 
first blast a woman’s voice was heard 
from some quarter within, as if urging 
the Sehora to act. The tone clearly 
indicated a mingling of entreaty and 
command, although no words were dis- 
tinguishable. Immediately the Sehora 
stepped forth. 

“ Stop 1 ” she cried. You cannot go 
on. It is too late. Forgive my seeming 
barbarity. You cannot understand, nor 
can I explain. But you must stay.” 

Another blast followed, stronger and 
more threatening. It was madness to go 
on. They must stay, however trying the 
situation might prove. Pablo now ap- 
peared and directed the negro to drive 
into shelter toward the rear of the house. 
Arthur meanwhile followed the Sehora 
within and was shown into the reception- 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 45 


room, a long and lofty apartment which 
seemed larger than it really was in the dim 
light, the window shutters being carefully 
closed and no lamp as yet lighted. In- 
distinct frescoes were discerned on the 
walls and ceiling and the floor was tiled 
in white marble, all indicating that the 
first owner had attempted the construction 
of a palatial country residence at Buena 
Esperanza. But almost the only furniture 
the apartment now contained was a long 
strip of carpet down the centre, bordered 
on either side by a row of cane-bottomed 
rocking-chairs. Inviting the visitor to be 
seated, the Sehora Duran retired, promis- 
ing to send him refreshments shortly. 

But can I not give assistance ? ” Arthur 
ventured to suggest. “It may be neces- 
sary to barricade the windows.” 

“ Pablo will attend to that,” was the 
prompt answer, with a look that most 
unequivocally admonished him to remain 
quietly where he was. 

He learned later that not Pablo alone, 


46 


Carita 


but he with the anxious and hurried as- 
sistance of both ladies, accomplished this 
labor. Long before the task was com- 
pleted Pablo and Willis appeared in the 
salon, both loaded with stout timbers, 
which they placed on the floor. The 
former then suggested that the visitor and 
his servant keep watch in the four front 
rooms, the two on the first floor and 
two others immediately above to which 
they could ascend by a staircase in the 
hall. Meanwhile he would see to the rest 
of the house, assisted by the watchfulness 
of the ladies. 

Pablo asserted with great earnestness 
that the visitors would have all they could 
do to attend to the six windows allotted to 
them, and as they valued their own safety 
and that of the house, he begged them not 
to desert their posts or venture beyond 
the assigned limits. The arrangement was 
not objected to ; and having shown Arthur 
how to place the timbers against the panels 
of the shutters, that closed from within. 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 47 

and conducted Willis to the upper rooms 
and set him to work there, Pablo hastily 
retired to take similar precautions else- 
where. 

Having braced a solid timber against 
each of the groaning windows of the lower 
front rooms, Arthur paced back and forth, 
listening and reflecting, his thoughts un- 
easily turning to the family at the Des- 
tierros. How would they fare.^ Would 
his mother secure the necessary protection 
for the house without the aid of Willis ? 
He recalled but one temporal of the^char- 
acter of the one now evidently at hand, 
and the recollection of the scenes then 
witnessed made him tremble. 

The hurricane was now rushing across 
the face of the country with a steady roar 
like the falling of an ocean of water over 
a precipice, its furious blasts breaking 
with a noise of battering-rams against 
the walls of the trembling residencia, and 
swooping down under the eaves and 
into the balconies of the court with a 


48 


Carita 


booming as of an angry sea and a howl- 
ing as of a legion of devils. Hastening 
from one window to another, the anxious 
watchers waited in mortal dread that the 
roof would be carried from over their 
heads and the very walls be thrown down 
upon them. The wind whirled round and 
round and beset every door and window 
like a host of living creatures battling for 
admission, now on this side, now on that, 
now at every quarter simultaneously, as if 
maddened by resistance and consciously 
determined upon death and destruction. 
And the besieged well knew that if once 
it should gain a foothold by window or 
door, its end would be achieved. 

During a slight lull in the attack on 
the front Arthur found himself watching 
through a broken panel the havoc with- 
out, careless of the rain that fell on him 
in a flood. The storm swept forward with 
terrific force and speed under a dark, tur- 
bulent sky, the very wind as it were a tangi- 
ble element of a leaden color. All manner 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 49 


of debris flew before it. Bits of roofing 
from neighboring out-houses, tiles, broken 
branches, and even uprooted trees were 
whirled across the view as helpless as au- 
tumn leaves in the grasp of the hurricane. 

It was an hour or more after night had 
fallen when Pablo hurried into the salon, 
bringing a candle and a tray on which 
were cold meat and bread, fruit, brandy, 
a pitcher of water, matches, and the uni- 
versal sine qua non — cigars. Depositing 
the same on a stand in a corner and invit- 
ing Arthur to refresh himself, he paused 
only to give uncertain answers to ques- 
tions relative to the probable length of 
the storm and the state of the defences 
in other parts of the house, and he was 
gone, as he came, in great haste. 

During the succeeding hour Arthur con- 
trived to take some refreshment, though 
frequently obliged to drop the food and 
run fearfully to some threatened win- 
dow. Toward midnight he took the can- 
dle and ascended to the upper floor, where 


50 


Carita 


he found Willis watchfully on guard. The 
negro was directed to descend and take 
charge of the lower rooms, in order that 
he might eat and drink in the interval 
of his labors. 

All night long the wind bellowed and 
roared about the house with no percepti- 
ble decrease of violence ; but as the day- 
light began to stream through the cracks 
in the windows, Arthur noted gladly that 
there seemed a slight but gradual and 
continuing abatement of its force. 

It was shortly after he had been made 
hopeful by these observations that a 
sudden fierce blast was followed by an 
alarming rattle and bang and roar in a 
neighboring apartment of the upper story. 
Forgetting Pablo’s earnest and repeated 
admonition to leave all but the front of the 
house to him, Arthur ran to a door leading 
toward the rear apartments, opened it, and 
stood on the threshold of a room that was 
evidently used as a mere passageway, being 
almost entirely devoid of furniture. 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 51 


He saw at once that the wind had 
broken in, and was howling madly through 
the apartment, causing the walls to tremble. 
He saw also that three other persons be- 
side himself had rushed to the rescue, 
entering by different doors, and that each 
of the others for some reason had halted 
momentarily in a kind of panic or state 
of stupefaction. The nearest of these 
persons was Pablo, the next beyond him 
was a lady, young and handsome, whom 
Arthur doubted not was the far-famed 
“ fair recluse ; the third, at the farther 
end of the room, was an unknown man, 
wrapped in a long red shawl, his head 
covered by a woollen night-cap or hood 
drooping forward over his face, which 
looked deadly pale. 

The last was the first to move. With- 
out a word he shrank back through the 
door by which he had entered, closing it 
after him. Then Pablo, crossing himself 
and muttering prayers, bounded toward 
the broken window. Arthur was about 


52 


Carita 


to follow, when the lady stepped forward 
and placed herself in his path. After her 
first sweeping glance around the room, 
her eyes had remained fastened on him, 
and she had not as yet marked the with- 
drawal of the man in red. 

‘‘ Go back,” she said, with an imperi- 
ous motion of her hand toward the door 
through which he had come. 

It was the imploring appeal which he 
read in her eyes rather than her attitude 
of command, which for a moment stayed 
his feet. But She is bereft of her senses 
with fear,” he then thought ; and passing 
round her, he rushed on to the window. 

The wind had now suddenly veered 
round, and with Pablo’s aid he soon closed 
the broken shutters and braced them 
securely with fresh timbers, counting it 
a happy chance that they did not give 
way before the storm had in a measure 
abated. 

The necessary task accomplished, Ar- 
thur turned promptly to the lady, who 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 53 


was still there, her eyes full upon him. 
She wore a pure white robe, and her raven 
hair fell rippling over her shoulders. Her 
erstwhile pallid face was now roseate in 
hue, and her eyes were moonlike in their 
splendor. She seemed to shine like a 
starry gem in the half-light of that room. 
Her beauty smote him to the heart. Be- 
reft of motion, of the power of speech, 
of connected thought, he stood still, star- 
ing. Once more their eyes had met, and 
this time they clung together with a 
strange helpless persistence which defied 
a certain struggling of the will in both. 
They knew not how long it was before a 
movement on the part of Pablo awoke 
them as from a trance. Her bosom was 
then lifted with an unuttered sigh, and 
she pointed again toward the door. Nev- 
ertheless he seemed to feel that she no 
longer earnestly desired his absence. 

‘‘ I grieve to have disobeyed you, but 
your command was not wise,” he found 
himself saying. 


54 


Carita 


‘‘In the name of God I beg you to go 
back to your post and come away no 
more,” she answered, not in the voice of 
displeasure, but in tones that were rather 
a caress. 

He moved instantly to obey, and at 
the door looked back to find that her 
glorious eyes still followed him. There- 
upon she turned abruptly away and he 
went out of sight, striving to recall a dis- 
sipated vision of enchantment. 

It was not upon the slowly abating 
storm that Arthur Glynn meditated as he 
paced back and forth in the salon during 
the remaining hours of that morning, not 
upon the curious apparition of the man 
in red at break of day, not upon the 
Destierros and the dear ones there from 
whom he had been separated so long, but 
upon the recluse of Buena Esperanza, the 
woman so young, so beautiful, so unac- 
countable, whose eyes had as it were 
looked into his soul and whose soul he 
believed to have been revealed to his eyes. 


Buena Esperanza in the Hurricane 55 


At noon Pablo came to tell him that 
the front door had been opened and he 
could now venture forth. Willis had 
already gone out and ascertained that the 
stables were intact and the horses safe. 

Buena Esperanza had been a striking 
scene of neglect already ; its desolation 
was now complete and indescribable. The 
heterogeneous mass of vegetation growing 
in the abandoned fields, sugar-cane, weeds, 
and what not, was beaten flat to the earth. 
The old sugar house was wholly unroofed. 
Coral-rock fences were blown down, Eedges 
were torn up in places by the roots, and 
trees lay prostrate everywhere. One-third 
of the mighty palms lining the avenue 
had fallen. The roads were impassable 
for any conceivable vehicle, and poor 
Pablo saw weeks of labor extending before 
him. 

The volante must perforce be left 
behind. Willis gave his own horse to 
his master and prepared to mount and 
ride on the bare back of the other. Aban- 


5^ 


Carita 


doning the vain hope of obtaining another 
glimpse of the recluse, Arthur Glynn sent 
his compliments and thanks to the Sehora, 
who likewise kept out of sight, and mount- 
ing his horse, rode out over the storm- 
scarred country toward the Destierros. 


IV 


Los Destierros 

HE year 1865 was a time of trial in 



A the southern part of the United 
States, and especially so to the slave- 
holders, who were left for the most part 
penniless, the value of their real estate 
temporarily dropping to zero as a conse- 
quence of the extinction of the “ patriar- 
chal system ** and the results of an unsuc- 
cessful war. Biting poverty, however, 
was not regarded as the worst feature of 
the situation. The temporary control of 
the local governments obtained by the 
freedmen in conjunction with the carpet- 
bagger — the turning of the State upside 
down and standing it on its head — re- 
sulted in a tenfold greater dissatisfaction 
with the present and alarm for the un- 
known future. 


5 ^ 


58 


Carita 


The multitude remained upon the site 
of their old firesides until time and better 
counsels had accomplished the reversal of 
an unnatural situation, and all the old 
wounds were healed. The few fled the 
country and settled down to begin life 
anew amid strange scenes. Some went 
to Mexico, some to Canada, some to 
England, and some — the ill-fated ones — 
to Brazil. Roger Glynn went to Cuba, 
and there were those, as indicated, who 
went farther and fared worse. 

Not that his experiment in the difficul- 
ties of expatriation was a brilliant success, 
but he at least carried out his scheme and 
lived as a Cuban sugar-planter until the 
day of his death not quite twenty years 
later. Unlike the emigrants who settled 
in Brazil, he was fortunate in the posses- 
sion of the faculty of adapting himself to 
new surroundings. He also had had long 
experience in the culture of sugar-cane in 
Louisiana, and had acquired a practical 
knowledge of the Spanish language. The 


Los Destierros 


59 


inheritance of an extensive and valuable 
property in Maryland was the cause, a few 
years before the war, of his removal to 
that State, and it was from there that he 
emigrated with his wife, his four-year-old 
soh, and two negro servants, a woman 
and a youth. 

Having realized every possible dollar 
from the sale of his depreciated estates, 
and obtained letters of introduction from 
Cuban friends in New Orleans, he took the 
momentous step. After several months 
spent in Havana, during which time 
many prospecting tours were made inland, 
he settled with his family on a purchased 
sugar plantation near San Jose, a fair 
bargain although instant and expensive 
repairs were necessary, calling the place 
“ Los Destierros” (the Exiles), in lieu of 
the name of local significance it had pre- 
viously borne. 

Roger Glynn was a man of business. 
He had inherited the institution of slavery 
and given it little thought as a moral ques- 


6o 


Carita 


tion. He would have continued it in his 
new field without an atom of compunc- 
tion, regarding it as a matter of course, 
but his late severe losses tended to make 
him chary of a fresh experiment in slave 
labor ; besides, he saw prospects of a grad- 
ual extinction of the system in Cuba in the 
near future. The sugar-cane fields of the 
Destierros, therefore, were cultivated by 
free men of color or slaves hired from 
their masters, with the help of contract- 
laboring coolies imported to the island 
from China. This experiment in agricult- 
ure in a foreign land, though distinguished 
by many vexations and disappointments, 
was, on the whole, fairly successful, and 
was therefore not abandoned. 

It was one thing for the Glynns to 
expatriate themselves ; it was quite an- 
other to be willing to see their son grow up 
with the education and sentiment of the 
Cubans. The boy Arthur was taught to 
read English at home, but his education 
could not stop there. After a few years 


Los Destierros 


6i 

spent in a school taught by nuns in San 
Jose, an arrangement was made with the 
cura, a learned man, who instructed the 
boy in Latin, Greek, history, etc., during 
the early hours of three days of the week 
until he had made gratifying progress. It 
was not, however, until he was past eigh- 
teen that Arthur was sent to America and 
entered the Johns Hopkins University. 
The same plan was proposed for Philip, 
the younger brother, bu^ he was as yet 
only twelve years old, and had just begun 
serious study under Padre Serrano’s 
direction. 

It was during Arthur’s first year at col- 
lege that Mabel Ray, a second cousin, was 
invited to Cuba, and thenceforward made 
her home at the Destierros, having lost all 
her nearer relations. It was in the middle 
of his last year that one day a cablegram 
informed him of his father’s death, fol- 
lowed within a few hours by another tell- 
ing him not to come home. The letter 
that reached him some days later made 


62 


Carita 


little of the difficulties now arising at the 
Destierros and urged him to complete his 
course. And though it was a hard thing 
to do, he had done it. 

Nothing but a heroic sense of duty 
could have induced the widow to pursue 
this course, prostrated as she was by a 
death that necessarily brought demorali- 
zation to the plantation. She shrank as 
the bravest woman might shrink from as- 
suming the reins of government dropped 
from the hands of her energetic husband, 
whose loss had almost extinguished the 
light of her life. But after a few days of 
hopeless grief she rose to the occasion and 
did battle with her crowding difficulties. 
The death occurred in the month of Jan- 
uary, in the midst of the harvesting or 
grinding season, which usually extends 
from the first of December to the middle 
of April. It was necessary, therefore, for 
the work to go on promptly, incessantly, 
until it was finished. There was no time 
to look for and negotiate with a capable 


Los Destierros 


63 


and trustworthy overseer, no time, indeed, 
for Arthur to come home and assume con- 
trol of a business with which he was but 
imperfectly acquainted, even had he been 
allowed to make the sacrifice. She must 
be her own overseer, and with the aid of 
the faithful Willis, who was at home in the 
lingo of the laboring classes, she succeeded 
in filling the role. 

From earliest dawn until late at night 
the widow was tireless in her activity, rid- 
ing over the cane-fields, visiting the mill 
and the sugar-house, urging, directing, ex- 
postulating, the faithful American negro 
ever at her command, carrying her mes- 
sages and assisting in enforcing her or- 
ders. She encountered many vexations 
and threatened disasters; for the indolent 
laborers of the tropics like not to be driven, 
and there were angry murmurs, especially 
among the coolies, whose weak constitu- 
tions were less able to bear the strain than 
those of the more hardy blacks. A certain 
moral support was rendered by the best 


64 


Carita 


spirits among the free negro laborers, who 
reminded the discontented that after the 
time of pressure their tasks would be 
light and their hours of leisure long. The 
year on a Cuban sugar-estate is necessarily 
divided into a period of comparative ease 
and another of incessant effort. For if 
left too long in the field after it is ripe, 
the cane deteriorates both in quality and 
the quantity of juice obtained ; during the 
‘‘season,” therefore, time is exceedingly 
precious. 

It was all over at last. The huge crop 
had been cut, hauled in, the juice expressed 
and boiled down, the sugar crystallized and 
finally packed and shipped to market. M rs. 
Glynn now had leisure to meditate upon 
her great loss, though with less of the first 
poignant anguish from which her continu- 
ing labors had served as a useful diversion. 

Arthur was to have come home in June, 
but it was October when he landed at 
Havana. An invitation to visit Europe 
without expense, in the company of a 


Los Destierros 


65 


wealthy uncle resident in New York, was 
the cause of this further delay. He at 
first refused the invitation, but his mother 
urged that there was nothing for him to do 
at the Destierros in the “ dead season,” 
and he was finally persuaded to make the 
best of an opportunity that might never 
come again. 

As he approached th^ Destierros, ac- 
companied by Willis, on the afternoon 
after the storm, he noted with great re- 
lief that comparatively little damage had 
been done in the immediate vicinity. 
The force of a tropical hurricane is usually 
concentrated within a narrow path, and 
the Destierros, though seriously threat- 
ened, had escaped the full fury visited 
upon Buena Esperanza. The bright purple 
skies were no longer obscured, the wet 
and luxuriant vegetation glistened in the 
sun, gorgeously colored birds flew back 
and forth among the trees, and the glimpse 
of the old house of yellowish stone at the 
end of the long avenue of palms completed 


66 


Carita 


a picture that brought a rush of fond 
memories and a gladness of the heart to 
the young man returning home. 

Two ladies awaited him on the ve- 
randa. One, a handsome blonde, young 
and graceful, wearing a becoming white 
house-dress, was seated luxuriously in a 
rocking-chair, nonchalantly smoking a 
fragrant cigarette. The other, of advan- 
cing age, with lines of care and grief on 
her gentle but strong face, stood dressed 
in dark garments, eagerly watching the 
approaching horses. 

I wish you would throw away that 
cigarette, Mabel,” said the latter, with a 
glance of mild reproof. 

Why should I ? ” 

“ I know he will not admire it.” 

‘‘Then let him learn to. Why did 
you bring me to Cuba, if you didn't 
want me to adopt the customs of the 
country ? ” 

The elder lady's only answer to this 
pouting question was a sigh. The horse- 


Los Destierros 


67 


men were now close at hand. Throwing 
his bridle to Willis, Arthur leaped to the 
ground, ran up the steps, and clasped his 
mother in his arms. With a low glad 
cry that was almost a sob, the widow fell 
upon her son’s neck and clung to him. 

“You have not disappointed me, Ar- 
thur,” she said presently, withdrawing a 
little and looking into his honest, affec- 
tionate blue eyes. “ Roger is gone, but 
I still have you.” Thereupon he took 
her again in his arms and kissed her 
tenderly. 

“Your cousin Mabel,” said Mrs. Glynn, 
after a little while, presenting him.. 

“ How do you do. Cousin Arthur ! ” 
cried Miss Ray, rising and offering him 
her right hand after transferring the 
lighted cigarette from her lips to her 
left. 

Arthur Glynn comported himself after 
a polite and cousinly fashion, but his eyes 
expressed no admiration as he looked 
with keen interest at the young lady. 


68 


Carita 


As his mother had foreseen, the ciga- 
rette excited in him an indefinable dis- 
relish for the person of his cousin. He 
turned from her to inquire for his little 
brother Philip, and was told that the 
latter, as soon as he could venture forth 
that morning, had gone to San Jose to 
find the anxiously awaited traveller, and 
had not yet returned. 

It was as they sat down to the mid- 
day meal a few minutes later that Arthur 
was asked at what posada in San Jose he 
had spent the night, his mother express- 
ing the fear that even the best would be 
found uncomfortable, especially on such a 
night. The liveliest surprise and interest 
were excited by his announcement that he 
and the negro had been storrn-bound at 
Buena Esperanza. In response to num- 
berless questions, he described all that 
had occurred, omitting, however, when 
referring to the incident of the broken 
window, to speak of either the man in the 
hood or the strange behavior of the lady. 


Los Destierros 


69 


‘‘ Then you did not see the fair recluse 
at all ? asked Miss Ray, disappointed. 

“ Yes, I got a glimpse of her.'* 

“ Then your fate is sealed,” the young 
lady cried, with a gay laugh. ‘‘ They say 
no man escapes who once lays eyes on 
her. She is a perfect Lorelei, a Circe, a 
Siren, without caring or trying to be in 
the least. I am sorry for you, poor 
cousin.” 

“ I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve,” 
retorted Arthur Glynn, with an unreal 
laugh and a flush on his face that was 
promptly noted by his mother s jealous 
eye. 

“ I shall have something to tell Isabel,” 
continued Miss Ray. “You remember 
the Rodriguez family. Cousin Arthur ? 
The Doha Isabel will charm you, no doubt. 
I am going with her and her brother, Don 
Alfredo, to see the bull-fight next Sunday 
afternoon. You must go too.” 

This announcement evidently caused in 
Arthur Glynn a more pronounced disrelish 


70 


Carita 


than had the spectacle of his cousin with a 
cigarette between her lips. 

“Ah, a bull-fight,” he rejoined, with- 
out enthusiasm. 

“ I have never gone to one,” said Mrs. 
Glynn. “ A spectacle highly unsuited for 
ladies, in my opinion.” She looked hard 
at the younger lady while speaking, as if 
hopeful that she also might be led to ex- 
press disapproval. 

“ I think the killing of the bull is fright- 
ful,” the latter admitted. “ But then, you 
needn’t look at it. I never do. I always 
look away. I look at the people. That’s 
what I go for. As for that disgusting 
brute, the matador, whom they all rave 
over so, he is intolerable and I never waste 
a glance on him. The Donas and the 
Dons, the gay dresses, the eager faces, the 
shouting, the excitement — that is what 
interests me. One must go. There’s 
hardly anything else, you know. When 
we go to Havana and spend a day shop- 
ping in Obispo Street and an evening at 


Los Destierros 


71 


the theatre, that is something, but down 
here there is nothing scarcely but driving 
in a volante to make a call. You must 
go to the Plaza de Toros or stagnate. 
Now if I lived in Baltimore and could go 
to a ball twice a week,’* concluded this 
candid young lady, “I could afford to be 
too good to witness that ‘ shocking spec- 
tacle,’ as Cousin Alice calls it; but as I live 
in rural Cuba, I can’t.” 

In the late afternoon, Arthur Glynn 
and his mother mounted horses and rode 
together over the plantation. From the 
neighborhood of the old stone mansion, 
which was embowered in shade and fruit 
trees, ceibas, Indian laurels, cocoanuts, and 
palms, they proceeded toward the barra- 
coons of the negroes and coolies, half 
hidden, some of them, by plantain, banana, 
and mango trees, and surrounded by cul- 
tivated patches devoted to yams and other 
vegetables, the private property of the 
tenants. The Asiatics and Africans alike 
gazed curiously and respectfully at the new 


72 


Carita 


master, and a number of men came forth 
to greet him. 

After a passing glance at the sugar-mill, 
they rode over the extensive cane-fields, 
following the roadways made for the ox- 
teams in the gathering season. At the 
boundaries of the estate they halted and 
looked back. The broad expanse of green 
waving cane, the bordering fruit trees, the 
brilliant flowers, the blossoming cacti, the 
coral-rock fences, and hedges overrun with 
the white night-blooming cereus and the 
golden jasmine, lent both color and per- 
fume to a picturesque landscape. 

‘‘ It is a fine old place, mother.” 

“ Yes, but ” — sighing — ‘‘ the prospects 
are not bright, I fear. For two or three 
years we have done little more than cover 
expenses. We need money, Arthur.” 

“ I see no way of getting it unless we 
can make it out of the estate.” 

“ If you should care for Mabel and she 
fancy you, the money that is soon to be 
hers would be more than ample.” Mrs. 


Los Destierros 


73 


Glynn spoke with a careless manner that 
veiled great earnestness. “ Your father 
suggested this,” she added. 

But I don’-t like Mabel, mother.” 

“ She appeared at a disadvantage to- 
day,” the lady ventured after a moment. 
“ She is not all frivolity.” 

Having said so much, Mrs. Glynn 
judged it neither prijdent nor candid to 
say more. In her heart she did not truly 
admire Miss Mabel Ray, and believed her 
son to be worthy of a higher type of 
woman. Nevertheless, she continued to 
entertain the thought ; for a fortune, espe- 
cially a large one, somehow contrives to 
cover a multitude of faults. 

You may like her better,” she added. 

“ First impressions usually last with 
me,” was the answer. 

Well, Arthur, I shall never urge you. 
You must please yourself.” 

Then they rode homeward in the magic 
glow of the tropical sunset, the mother 
speaking of other things, the son listening 


74 


Carita 


absently while dreaming of another mar- 
riage still more unlikely, but at the 
thought of which his heart throbbed more 
quickly and his pulses leaped. 


V 

What Happened in the Church 

T he Cuban Sunday, in the recollec- 
tion of Arthur Glynn, was ever a 
day of revelry rather than of worship, the 
impression of the early morning mass 
being soon effaced in the heat of the cock- 
main and the clamor of the bull-ring. 
The churches — almost without exception 
Roman Catholic — were open throughout 
the week, however, and he knew there was 
not the lack of interest in the things of 
religion, on the part of the gentler sex at 
least, that might be supposed. There were 
no Protestants in the family at the Desti- 
erros, but there was usually little church- 
going on Sunday except upon the occasion 
of some particular festival. 


75 


76 


Carita 


No one was surprised, however, at the 
announcement made by Arthur on Sunday 
morning that he was going to church ; 
for he explained that it was in order to 
see and speak to his old preceptor and 
friend. Padre Serrano. Of course he did 
not mention that his haste to visit the 
cura was owing to the report of the latter's 
intimacy at Buena Esperanza. 

Arthur rode off alone. He had risen 
late and it was eleven o'clock when he 
reached San Jose. The shops and bodegas 
were doing a thriving business, and there 
was the sound of music and laughter from 
the interior of private dwellings. Never- 
theless the streets were not populous, and 
Arthur conjectured that ere this the mass 
had been said, the sehoras had gone home 
to smoke and the sehors to the cockpit 
to bet. He determined, however, to visit 
the church on the chance of finding Padre 
Serrano still lingering there ; and if not, 
to seek him at his house. 

He saw at once that the worshippers. 


What Happened in the Church 77 


with two or three exceptions, had indeed 
departed, and there was no sign of the cura. 
The interior of the church presented the 
only suggestion of the proverbial Sabbath 
stillness to be found anywhere in San 
Jose. 

Arthur Glynn felt attracted by this at- 
mosphere of peaceful and solemn repose. 
He wanted to reflect, to analyze his feel- 
ings, to go over in mind the questions he 
would put to Padre Serrano with reference 
to those strange people at Buena Espe- 
ranza. He therefore walked quietly up 
the right aisle and sat down in a chair 
midway of the church in the shadow of a 
pillar supporting the roof. 

On his right, only a few feet distant, 
was a small chapel in which were an altar 
and two or three characteristic pictures. 
Against the railing across the entrance 
kneeled a woman dressed neatly in black, 
her head and shoulders obscured in the 
undulations of a lace mantilla also of black. 
The observer could not see her face, but 


78 


Carita 


he knew that it was lifted toward the altar 
and that she was praying. There seemed 
to be an expression of trustful devotion 
more marked than was common in her 
very attitude, and this pleased Arthur 
Glynn. He could not be called devout, 
but his mother, a good Catholic, had 
taught him veneration, and he respected 
and admired devotion in others. 

Presently a small young man in fault- 
less attire came noiselessly down the aisle, 
passed Arthur Glynn without observing 
him, turned toward the little chapel on the 
right, and kneeled down within three feet 
of the woman in black. This was none 
other than the handsome Sebastiano who 
on a previous Sunday had attempted in 
vain to secure recognition from the fair 
recluse. 

Arthur Glynn would have thought noth- 
ing of the newcomer’s choice of a place to 
pray, had it not shortly appeared that he was 
not praying at all, but speaking earnestly 
to the woman beside whom he had knelt. 


What Happened in the Church 79 


and who, from certain movements that she 
made, apparently resented the intrusion. 

The astonished observer sat within twelve 
feet ; listening intently, as well as looking 
with all his eyes at so unusual a scene, he 
directly heard these words uttered in low, 
passionate tones : 

“ Have pity, Sehorita. I have been 
forced to this seeming sacrilege by your 
cruel indifference to my efforts to become 
known to you.” 

‘‘ And you would thrust your acquaint- 
ance upon me ? ” was the indignant re- 
joinder. ‘^What right has a stranger to 
intrude upon my devotions ? Remove 
yourself, sir ! ” 

Have you no pity for even an un- 
known lover s breaking heart ? ” was the 
impassioned plea that followed. 

Leave me, Sehor, or I shall myself be 
forced to go.” This with outraged voice 
and gesture. 

Arthur Glynn waited just long enough 
to see that the command would not be 


8o 


Carita 


obeyed, then he determined to interfere. 
It filled him with wrath to see that any 
woman, whether princess or peasant, should 
be forced to submit to such persecution at 
the hands of an undesired admirer, and 
there was a threatening look in his eyes as 
he rose and stepped noiselessly forward. 

Halting within arm’s length, without a 
thought of the possible consequences, he 
seized the unconscious little Sebastiano by 
his collar and the back seam of his spotless 
trousers and threw him clattering on hands 
and knees over the marble tiles of the 
floor some ten feet away. 

Then he turned to the lady, who had risen 
in alarm, and stood face to face with the 
recluse of Buena Esperanza. Once more 
their eyes met and embraced, each momen- 
tarily forgetting all else, even that humili- 
ated gallant now picking himself up furi- 
ously from the floor. It seemed to Arthur 
Glynn that the rarest graces humanity is 
heir to had been lavished upon this pale, 
slender creature standing there before him 


What Happened in the Church 8i 


in her plain, sombre garb. The beauty of 
her soul looked out from her fearless eyes 
and pierced his heart as with a conquering 
sword. A strange sympathetic thrill coursed 
through his veins, as it were the flowing of 
an unseen current from the inmost springs 
of her young life. He felt the touch of 
invisible bonds, and yielded to them gladly. 

And she ? The ardor of his counte- 
nance was absent from her own, but her 
great eyes which burned magnetic fires 
clung to him persistently, as if imploring 
him to go yet praying him to stay. He 
had surrendered ; she wished to, but would 
not. Standing silent, looking deep into 
her noble, fearless eyes, he beheld the pas- 
sion and sadness, the conflicting despair and 
hope, the struggling coquetries even, of a 
woman's tried and battling soul ; but tri- 
umphant over all the sweet gentleness of 
resignation, and an atmosphere of firm 
resolution to die if need be for a venerated 
ideal, — all this in that silent eloquence of 
her eyes. 


82 


Carita 


There came the sound of feet approach- 
ing over the stone floor. Her eyes fell 
instantly away from his, and her face be- 
came rapidly cold and stern. Instinctively 
he felt that this coldness and sternness 
were for herself, not for him. 

“ Gracias, Sehor. You are brave and 
courteous ; I thank you from my heart. 
A Dios ! ” 

This was her speech, in a low tone that 
thrilled him, as with one swift glance she 
walked past him to join the Sehora Duran, 
who was approaching from another place 
of prayer. And he, inwardly smiling and 
dreaming of Elysian fields, looked after 
her, noting every movement of her body 
with a fulness of admiration and content, 
until the two were lost to view beyond the 
doors of the church. Then he seemed to 
see Sebastiano's handsome face, distorted 
with fury, appearing from beyond a pillar 
and drawing near, and with a great effort 
he withdrew himself from roseate abstrac- 
tions and shut his heart to its flood-tide of 
exultation. 


What Happened in the Church 83 


“ I am Sebastiano Rios of San Jose/' 
announced the unfortunate little man, as 
though spitting forth his words, and 
nothing but blood will answer for what 
has happened this day. Where will my 
friends find the Senor ? " 

“ I am Arthur Glynn, of the Destier- 
ros, — at your service whenever you like. 
But I must tell you this ; few men shoot 
or fence better than I — or so I have been 
told. If you must fight, I can't say no, 
but, frankly, I think you had better not. 
If you choose to think better of it, you 
need not fear talk. What has happened 
is known only to the lady and myself. 
She owes you no kindness, but she is, I 
am sure, too generous to speak ; and I, 
on my part, engage to say nothing, pro- 
vided you trouble her no more." 

This well-meant speech was fresh gall 
and wormwood to the wounded spirit of 
Sebastiano Rios, and as his enemy turned 
and walked away he stood helpless in his 
place, too enraged to speak. 


84 


Carita 


What had just occurred rendered an 
interview with Padre Serrano only the 
more urgently desirable. His horse was 
waiting at a neighboring posada, but 
Arthur decided to walk to the cura’s 
house, which he knew to be close at hand. 
The man-servant, a negro, who presently 
answered his summons and recognized 
him with smiles and friendly and respect- 
ful words of welcome, reported that his 
master had not yet returned home. 

He may be walking — in the direction 
of the cockpit. He likes to walk that 
way,’* suggested the discreet servitor. 

‘‘Thank you, Alesandro,” said Arthur, 
smiling, “ I had thought of that. I’ll go 
and meet him.” 


VI 

The Padre’s Advice 

E very Cuban town has its cock 
‘‘main” or “pit,” where the national 
passion for gambling finds one of its vents. 
The pit in San Jose was a circular amphi- 
theatre some thirty or forty feet in diame- 
ter, roofed over and latticed in, with a 
striking resemblance to an immense cage. 
In the seats raised in a circle one above 
another about the central ring or arena 
were now gathered all sorts and condi- 
tions of men : lily-white Caballeros with 
cascarilla on their faces, bronzed white 
laborers in holiday attire, swarthy mixed 
bloods in tatters or in finery, yellow, mel- 
ancholy coolies, and negroes of every type 
and every shade. All these became one 
85 


86 


Carita 


shouting and gesticulating mob as the 
crisis of the fight approached. 

Paying the fee and elbowing his way 
into the crowded place, Arthur with some 
difficulty reached a point whence the arena 
could be overlooked. Two game-cocks 
pitted against each other were being passed 
in review, held in the hands of their re- 
spective owners, and there was much giving 
and taking of bets. Arthur was slightly 
shocked, but not surprised, to see that 
one of the owners was none other than 
Padre Serrano, who looked as self-pos- 
sessed as if he were in church, and gazed 
proudly and fondly upon his bird. The 
discovery of his little brother Phil on 
the other side of the ring in the act of 
staking a lottery ticket, which he held 
up to view, on the chances of the cura’s 
promising bird was to Arthur a source 
of more serious concern. 

Cousin Mabel, it seems,” he mused, 
“ is not the only one at the Destierros who 
is absorbing the customs of the country.” 


The Padre^s Advice 


87 


Little Phil was a fine-looking boy of 
twelve, with dark hair and almost the 
bronzed complexion of a native. He was 
manly and fearless in his demeanor, but 
when presently he caught his elder broth- 
er’s eye he started guiltily. Instead of 
frowning, Arthur smiled ; whereupon the 
youngster smiled back, as if reassured. 
“ I can do more with him if I gain his 
confidence,” was Arthur’s thought. “ He 
is not much to blame, anyhow, for doing 
what he sees his preceptor do.” 

The two game-cocks were clipped from 
head to tail, their combs being trimmed 
close to the crown, and their heads and 
necks, to the length of three inches, com- 
pletely plucked of all feathers. The flesh 
thus left bare had been rubbed with rum 
until it had hardened. The birds had 
evidently been long in training. There 
was no struggling to free themselves from 
the hands that held them ; they, indeed, 
calmly surveyed the assembled crowd as 
if they perfectly understood the situation. 


88 


Carita 


The bets having been made and taken, 
the umpires affixed steel gaffs to the spurs 
of the contesting cocks and gently placed 
them opposite each other on the sawdust- 
covered ground inside the ring ; where- 
upon both crowed loudly and eyed each 
other with threatening mien. 

After a tentative advance and retreat, 
once or twice repeated, each bird mean- 
while pretending to peck at supposed 
grains of corn, thus attempting to draw 
on his antagonist, the two fighters pres- 
ently rushed fiercely upon each other, at 
no time paying the slightest attention to 
the shouts or jeers of the excited people. 

Without the artificial spurs, the struggle 
might have lasted an hour; with them it 
came to an end at the expiration of about 
ten minutes. Blood flowed from pierced 
necks, eyes were pecked out, wings and 
legs were broken in short order, the ex- 
citement, meanwhile, intensifying. The 
bird longest in dying was the winner, 
and this, to Arthur’s genuine satisfaction. 


The Padre* s Advice 


89 


chanced not to be Padre Serrano*s. It was 
better, he thought, for little Phil to lose 
than to win. From their long faces, it 
was quite evident that neither the young- 
ster nor the cura shared this opinion. 

Many in the cockpit had been smok- 
ing, and the air was stifling. In the move- 
ment of the crowd, that was now general, 
Arthur made his way to Padre Serrano’s 
side. 

You are not in luck to-day,” he said, 
after being warmly greeted. 

“ Ah, no ; I am punished for my frivol- 
ity,” was the answer, with a doleful smile 
and plaintive shrug. 

Being informed that the young man 
wished private speech with him, the Padre 
invited him to his house and proceeded 
to lead the way. Little Phil now joined 
them, spoke regretfully to the priest of 
the loss he had sustained, but said noth- 
ing of the lottery ticket which he himself 
had risked and lost. 

“ Another time be wise enough not to 


90 


Carita 


bet,” said Arthur, taking the boy aside, 
when they reached the open air. On his 
own part he was wise enough not to be 
severe. 

“ Mamma doesn’t know that I come 
here,” said little Phil, frankly. 

‘‘And I shan’t worry her by telling 
her,” was the answer. “ But I hope you 
won’t come again until you are older, or 
if you do, that you won’t bet. I wouldn’t 
buy another lottery ticket, either, if I were 
you. In both cases it is nothing but 
gambling. Mother will be sorry to see 
her little Phil grow up to be a Cuban 
gambler.” 

“ And I don’t mean to, either,” the boy 
declared, evidently not unmoved by this 
appeal. 

The house of Padre Serrano was similar 
to the average dwelling of the better class 
in San Jose, — a massive structure of yel- 
low stone, with a small court in the cen- 
tre, and huge, barred, curtainless windows, 
opening on the street. Arthur was led 


The Padre's Advice 


91 


into a lofty and cool sitting-room, the 
chief feature of which was, as usual, a 
double row of cane-bottom rocking-chairs, 
each being flanked by a convenient cuspi- 
dor. A few inartistic pictures on the walls 
completed the furnishing of the room. 

They were scarcely seated when Ale- 
sandro, the black man-servant, appeared in 
neat attire and bringing a table. This be- 
ing placed between the host and his guest, 
the breakfast or midday meal was served, 
consisting of pine-apples and oranges, 
eggs, broiled fowl, a vegetable seasoned 
with garlic, chili Colorado, Cataline wine, 
coffee and cigars. 

‘^Your mother does not approve of 
cock-fighting and betting," remarked Padre 
Serrano, serenely. 

“ Most likely not." 

“ Especially in the case of churchmen," 
with a smile. 

“ I can well believe it." 

“ As for me, I do not defend it. I only 
do it," the Padre remarked with complete 


92 


Carita 


frankness. Mea culpa. It is my only 
vice.’' 

Arthur thought this statement abso- 
lutely sincere, as it doubtless was. He 
knew the priest to be a worthy man and 
a most generous. Many stories were cur- 
rent of his kind offices to the poor and 
distressed, as well as to the rich in their 
hour of need. When others fled from 
pestilence-swept neighborhoods, he fear- 
lessly remained and acted day and night 
in the double capacity of priest and nurse, 
always passing through the ordeal un- 
scathed, as if rendered invulnerable by the 
very exalted disinterestedness of his mo- 
tives. He did not shun even the leper, 
and no one ever appealed to him in vain. 
The poorest laborer, the humblest negro, 
the most wretched coolie, was assured of 
his sympathy. The licensed beggar alone 
avoided him, having learned from experi- 
ence to expect a stern rebuke in lieu of 
alms. He was a man of deeds as well as 
words, and deeds that were not done to be 
seen of men. 


The Padre’s Advice 


93 


“ Peccatum esty' continued the Padre, 
who was fond of employing his familiar 
Latin when he was in the company of an 
intelligent person, but it is not one of 
the graver sins. It is better than to en- 
rich oneself at the expense of the church 
and of the poor, and there have been 
churchmen who did that.” 

“ True.” 

“ It is better than to forsake one’s vows 
and bring into the world a nameless brood, 
and there have been men called church- 
men who did that.” 

Assuredly.” 

“ It is better — but all this does not 
excuse. Mea culpa I It is my only temp- 
tation.” 

“ And yet you are still young. Padre,” 
said Arthur with a curious, wondering air. 

One would think your strongest temp- 
tation would be to love. Is there nothing 
in a woman’s beautiful face — ” 

Once there was, yes. But I always 
conquered. I said to myself : ^ Cogito hoc 


94 


Carita 


et intendo hoc^ sed quia peccatum esty non 
faciam illud' ” 

As he spoke the priest’s eyes rested 
absently upon the negro who had come 
in, and the latter, supposing he had been 
addressed, answered, — 

“ Master, you forget ; I do not under- 
stand English.” 

Do not grieve, my good Alesandro,” 
said the Padre, exchanging a smiling 
glance with his guest ; ‘‘ there are Eng- 
lishmen who would not have understood 
me any better. You may remove the 
table.” 

After they had lighted fresh cigars 
Arthur spoke of Buena Esperanza and 
related so much of his experience there as 
he thought proper, confessing that this 
was the subject on which he had sought 
private speech with his host. What did 
the cura know of those strange people ? 
Why were they thus secluded? For 
every atom of information he would be 
deeply grateful. 


The Padre’s Advice 


95 


“It is not idle curiosity that moves 
me,” he concluded earnestly. 

The priest listened in silence with 
knitted brows. “You have seen the 
younger lady, and, like others before 
you, you wish to see her again ? ” he at 
length inquired. 

“ Y — es.” Then, with more frankness : 
“ I wish it eagerly.” 

“ I can tell you nothing that you do not 
know already. A priest may listen to 
confession, but he may not talk. But if 
you wish it, I can advise you.” 

“ What do you advise me ? ” 

“ To go no more to Buena Esperanza — 
to try no more to see Carita Ramirez.” 

Arthur Glynn laughed softly, and there 
was in that laugh a challenge to fate. “ Do 
you take me for a child ? ” he asked. 

“ I warn you out of my love for you,” 
was the solemn answer. “ If you fail of 
your desire, as I doubt not you will, you 
will but bring upon yourself useless pain. 
And if you succeed, you but enter upon a 


96 


Carita 


path that leads to — but no, you will never 
succeed.” 

‘‘Is she, then, a snare to lure men to 
destruction ? ” 

“ She is an angel of heaven.” 

“You have told me all I need to know ! ” 
cried Arthur Glynn, starting to his feet. 
“ I knew it, I felt it, in spite of every- 
thing.” 

“Ah, but you do not understand,” the 
priest urged, anxiously. “ She is an angel, 
but she is one to whom God hath given to 
quaff the bitter cup. Keep away — keep 
away — for your own sake and for hers.” 

“ Prove to me that you are right by tell- 
ing me all, and I will obey you. Other- 
wise I will not — can not — keep away.” 

“ Then may our Lady watch over you, 
Arturo. I cannot tell you.” 

Further discussion was clearly useless, 
and nothing more was said. Their cigars 
being now finished. Padre Serrano in- 
vited his guest to remain and accompany 
him to the Plaza de Toros at four o’clock, 


The Padre’s Advice 


97 


proposing meanwhile the inevitable siesta. 
Arthur consented, and was shown to a cool, 
dimly lighted chamber, where he lay down 
upon a bed made of a few light, gorgeous 
coverlets spread on the woven-wire spring 
of a mosquito-netting-draped bed, but all 
tendency to slumber was successfully ban- 
ished by the brightness of anticipation and 
hope that now illumined his mind, in spite 
of the Padre’s ominous warning. 


VII 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 

B y half-past three the October midday 
heat was decreasing and it was pos- 
sible to venture out without serious dis- 
comfort. It was about this hour that 
Don Alfredo Rodriguez appeared in the 
avenue of palms at the Destierros, accom- 
panied by his handsome sister, the Doha 
Isabel. 

The latter rode alone in a roomy volante 
which was driven by a negro postilion 
astride of one of the horses. She was 
dressed in yellow with no head covering 
other than a black silken veil richly 
wrought and gathered at the back, a cos- 
tume that well became her olive complex- 
ion, midnight eyes, and raven hair. In 
her hand she carried a many-colored fan 

98 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 99 


of rich material, which glittered like a gor- 
geous butterfly in the intense sunshine. 

Don Alfredo was arrayed in stiff spot- 
less linen and sat majestically upon a milk- 
white Andalusian mule, with cropped 
mane and shaved tail, the latter tied at 
the tip with a bright ribbon. From the 
holsters of his antique Spanish saddle, 
which glittered with silver mountings, two 
formidable pistols projected, and attached 
to his waist was a long Toledo blade in 
an ornamented scabbard. Moreover, his 
hands sparkled with costly rings, and he 
wore a prodigious gold watch-chain. This 
magnificent gentleman of rural Cuba was 
the owner of a number of spirited horses, 
but for particularly festive occasions pre- 
ferred his white mule. 

Before they could alight Miss Mabel 
Ray appeared and allowed Don Alfredo 
to gallantly assist her to a seat in the 
volante. She wore a pretty American hat 
and a white summer gown, gay with the 
latest ornaments ordained by fashion. The 


lOO 


Carita 


contrast between an American and Cuban 
beauty was marked, but not damaging to 
either. There could be no doubt which 
type was given the preference by the 
stately Don, who rode alongside, scarcely 
ever lifting his eyes from the face of the 
“Americana hermosa,” as the fairer of the 
two was styled when a toast was drunk in 
her honor. 

The Doha Isabel was now the only un- 
satisfied member of this trio. She had 
expected Arthur Glynn to appear, as had 
also her brother. Miss Ray politely fore- 
stalled inquiry by informing them that 
he had not returned from San Jose, and 
doubtless they would meet him at the 
Plaza de Toros. 

“ I wish we were going to a ball,** she 
remarked to the Don in English, as they 
passed out of the avenue and took the 
San Jose road. “ I don*t like bull-fights.** 

“It likes not well to me neither,** agreed 
the Cuban, with as much lack of sincerity 
as of English idiom. “ But Felipe, Felipe 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls loi 


Ocana, el matador, — he give us a grand 
fight this evaning. Yes, he eez wonder- 
fool — Felipe.” 

“ He is disgusting.” 

Don Alfredo judged it best to speak of 
other things, and he presently asked : 

“ Of English poet, Mees Ray, which is 
agreable to you more, Tenneesown or 
Shake-a-speare ? ” 

‘‘ It is the fashion, of course, to admire 
Shakespeare more, but I’d rather read 
Tennyson,” said Miss Ray, slightly bored. 

Both are to me very agradable,” de- 
clared the Don, proud of his knowledge 
of English literature. “ The soliloquee 
of Hamlet I mucho admeer,” he added, 
and proceeded to recite it. Miss Ray 
meanwhile biting her lip to save herself 
from laughing outright. “ Eez it not ad- 
meerable ? ” he asked in conclusion. 

“ Yes, indeed ; especially with your pro- 
nunciation.” 

Believing that he had been compli- 
mented, poor Don Alfredo made a stately 


102 


Carita 


bow, with his hand on his heart. In his 
elation he ventured another quotation 
from Hamlet : 

' Doot that the stars are feer ; 

Doot that the sun doth move, 

Doot truth to be a leear. 

But nevare doot I love.’ ” 

Then, recollecting her preference for 
Tennyson, he referred to Lady Clara 
Vere de Vere,” quoting the admirable sen- 
timent to the effect that it is only noble 
to be “gude,” and that kind hearts are 
more than coronets, and “ seemple ” faith 
than Norman blude.'' 

Before Miss Ray blossomed into 
womanhood Don Alfredo was seen little 
at the Destierros, and when he did appear 
he spoke Spanish. He had come in con- 
tact with few English-speaking people and 
had learned his English out of books and 
under the direction of a Spanish teacher 
who could not speak the language at all, 
the process being similar to that necessa- 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 103 


rily employed by the American or Eng- 
lish student in acquiring a knowledge of 
Greek. He grasped the sense of the 
English poets, and really delighted in 
them, but was accustomed to read them 
aloud in the ridiculous manner indicated. 
Not less ridiculous, perhaps, would be 
the rendition of Homer or Virgil by some 
of our grave and learned scholars, could 
they but be overheard by the ancient 
Roman or Greek. 

All this was mystery to the Doha Isa- 
bel. “You forget, my learned brother, 
that I don’t understand English,” she 
said at last, sweetly and poutingly, and 
after that, although by no means perfectly 
at home in Spanish, Miss Ray would suf- 
fer no more of the Don’s labored English. 

The Plaza de Toros of San Jose, so 
called after the more celebrated place of 
that name in Havana, contained an am- 
phitheatre capable of seating more than 
two thousand spectators. The seats were 
arranged in circles one above another 


104 


Carita 


around and at a secure height above an 
extensive arena. When Don Alfredo’s 
party arrived and were shown to their 
places, scarcely a seat was still vacant. It 
was expected to be one of the most spirited 
contests of the season, and all the world 
of San Jose and the surrounding country 
wished to be present. The crowds of 
laughing and chatting people, the bright 
colors worn by the sehoras and sehoritas, 
their sparkling jewelled fans, the pictu- 
resque costumes of the toreadors, together 
formed a brilliant and interesting spectacle. 

True to her declaration, Miss Ray 
looked into the arena but little and occu- 
pied herself in scanning the assembly, ad- 
miring costumes and searching for familiar 
faces. Among those which she promptly 
located were Padre Serrano’s and Arthur 
Glynn’s. The latter was likewise scan- 
ning the assembly, but in the search of 
one particular face only. Aside from 
Pablo, who sat in one of the cheaper 
seats, he sav/ no representatives of Buena 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 105 


Esperanza. A momentary disappoint- 
ment was followed by a sense of satisfac- 
tion. Being herself, he reasoned, she 
could take no pleasure in this sanguinary 
spectacle. 

Presently a large bull, let loose from 
apartments beneath the seats, dashed 
madly through an open door into the 
arena. Confused by the bright sunshine 
and startled at sight of the assembled 
people, he stopped short and pawed the 
ground excitedly while glaring from side 
to side. In the arena were three chulos 
on foot and two picadors on horseback, 
the business of the former, as soon ap- 
peared, being to attract the bull with their 
red scarfs, and then, while adroitly leaping 
beyond reach of his horns, to thrust 
into his neck and sides banderillas, or 
barbed darts, ornamented with ribbons. 
The mounted picadors excited the bull to 
frenzy by thrusts with a long pole spiked 
at each end, and capable of inflicting pain- 
ful but not dangerous wounds. 


io6 


Carita 


Thus tormented, the beast soon became 
frantic, and was almost continually en- 
gaged in a charge at one or another of 
his enemies. Finding the chulos too wary 
for him, he now rushed fiercely at one 
of the horses, and in spite of the repeated 
and painful wounds inflicted by the pica- 
dor, he persisted until he had ripped the 
horse’s bowels open with his horns and 
thrown him to the ground with his rider 
under him. 

At this critical moment the chulos 
rushed to the rescue, drawing off the 
bull by attacking him and flaunting their 
red scarfs before his eyes. So the pictu- 
resque but brutal struggle went on for 
a long while. In the course of it two 
other horses were killed in a similar man- 
ner, one rider was seriously hurt by a 
fall beneath his horse, and a chulo was 
caught on the horns of the maddened 
beast, tossed in the air, and, when rescued, 
was found to have a deep and dangerous 
wound in his side. 


Lovers, Toreadors, and Bulls 107 

Finally, there was another flourish of 
trumpets, the chulos and picadors retired, 
and Felipe Ocaha, a celebrated matador, 
entered the arena to face the bull alone, 
a scarlet flag in one hand and a naked 
Toledo blade in the other. The bull 
had ere this begun to fag, but seemed 
to take courage at sight of a single foe. 
Many times he rushed fast and furiously, 
and, as would seem to threaten, fatally 
upon his enemy, who as many times 
leaped skilfully out of harm’s way, mean- 
while thrusting with his sword and inflict- 
ing wounds from which the poor beast 
bled profusely. 

At last with a hoarse bellow the doomed 
bull rushed forward once more with head 
bent down. This time the matador did 
not leap aside, but calmly withstood the 
shock, and with a firm and practised hand 
drove his sword into the back of the ani- 
mal’s neck just behind the horns. The 
result was immediate. The great beast 
staggered, swayed from side to side, and 


io8 


Carita 


then fell dead^ whereupon, with wild en- 
thusiasm, the spectators shouted again 
and again : “ Viva Ocaha ! Viva Ocaha ! ” 

Three more bulls having been similarly 
tormented and slaughtered, the Sunday 
afternoon’s bloody entertainment came to 
an end. The crowd poured into the 
streets of the town, chatting gayly, in a 
state of no little exhilaration resulting 
from their emotions having been stirred, 
their senses thrilled, and their flesh having 
been made to creep. There is that in the 
unschooled human heart that takes delight 
even in cruelty. 

Arthur Glynn took leave of the Padre, 
joined Don Alfredo’s party, and rode home 
with them. The return journey was much 
more agreeable to the handsome Doha 
Isabel. It mattered not how industriously 
her brother manufactured grotesque Eng- 
lish phrases for the ear of Miss Ray, so 
long as she herself was furnished with an 
agreeable cavalier who rode on her own side 
of the volante conversing in fluent Spanish. 


1^0 vers. Toreadors, and Bulls 109 

They started off in the red glow of the 
sunset, but in a few minutes it was night, 
and the golden, glowing, tropic moon, 
which is never pale as in the North, rose 
above them in all its splendor until the 
jewelled fan of the Doha Isabel, over 
which she cast coquettish glances at her 
Caballero, glistened almost as brilliantly as 
in the vanished sunshine. 


VIII 


In the Latticed Bower 

O N the morrow Arthur Glynn rose 
betimes and busied himself, or ap- 
peared to busy himself, in looking into 
the affairs of the Destierros plantation ; 
but his watchful mother observed with a 
troubled mind that he was distrait, and, 
in spite of evident effort, that he really 
accomplished nothing. Her suggestions 
met no intelligent responsev; she saw that 
he was absorbed in matters of which he 
did not choose to speak and that she must 
wait. 

She vaguely divined the situation, but 
was far from supposing that he was in the 
passionate ferment of a first deep love. 
Arthur Glynn had seen beauty before and 
not been charmed, and he had felt drawn 


no 


^ In the Latticed Bower 


III 


to women who were beautiful to none but 
him ; but in the recluse of Buena Espe- 
ranza all that he had set before his mind’s 
eye as desirable seemed united. Her 
image was engraven on his heart. The 
inner sight and recollection of her trans- 
figured every object or stretch of land- 
scape upon which he might chance to 
rest his eyes. Everywhere he saw her 
— Carita ! — the central feature of a lumi- 
nous, roseate cloud of fancy. And always 
with that sweet, unconscious promise of 
surrender in her eyes. 

While riding over the estate in the late 
afternoon, on a sudden impulse he took 
the road that led to Buena Esperanza, 
and half an hour later found himself ad- 
vancing toward the residencia by the ave- 
nue of royal palms. In a brightness of 
anticipation and hope that exhilarated his 
being like virile wine, he rapped loudly 
and confidently upon the door. While 
waiting, he observed that although the 
fallen palms had been removed from the 


II2 


Carita 


avenue, the debris of the storm was still 
scattered everywhere else. And so, when 
Pablo opened the door, he remarked to 
him that the track of the hurricane was 
still visible. 

Ah, yes, Sehor, Pablo has not a thou- 
sand arms,’’ was the answer, with a dole- 
ful shrug. “ But how can I serve the 
Senor to-day ? ” 

“ Tell the ladies that I have called.” 

Pablo took the visiting-card that was 
given him and departed, frowning and 
shaking his head. Arthur waited impa- 
tiently, standing in the reception-room. 
In a few moments the worthy serving-man 
returned and reported that the Sehora 
wished to express her thanks for the cour- 
tesy, but that both ladies desired to be 
excused. ‘"I could have told you as 
much,” added Pablo, with sympathy. 

Without comment Arthur went out, 
mounted his horse, and rode away through 
the long avenue of palms. He felt angry 
only with the Sehora. This was her 


In the Latticed Bower 


113 

doing, hers only. She would find that 
he was not to be disposed of so easily. 
He could wait. 

On his way out he noted off the avenue, 
some fifty yards to the left, in a grove of 
fruit trees, a latticed bower, or retreat, 
over which the jasmine and night-bloom- 
ing cereus clambered luxuriantly. Surely 
that must be one of her haunts, and there 
must be times when she could be found 
there. 

Possessed by this idea, at the bottom 
of the avenue he leaped to the ground, 
secured his horse, and walked back through 
the shrubbery to the left. She might not, 
indeed, be found there, but he could leave 
her a sign, a letter, perhaps. To estab- 
lish communication with her was his fixed 
and unalterable purpose, and he did not 
stop to consider proprieties. 

The latticed bower was silent and va- 
cant, but showed signs of frequent occu- 
pancy. The vines were carefully trimmed 
and the stone floor neatly swept. There 


Carita 


114 


was more than this ; on a long rustic seat 
he espied some sheets of paper written 
upon with pencil and held down in their 
place by a bit of coral-rock. A book also 
lay near. Glancing into it, he saw with 
emotions of surprise and reverence that 
it was a translation of the Imitation of 
Christ of Thomas a Kempis. Forgetting 
for the moment that he was intruding 
upon a privacy that should be sacred, he 
lifted one of the papers from under the 
stone and read some lines of verse that 
may be freely translated thus : — 

“ Is it not better to kneel for a lifetime 
on the thorns of affliction, to let the young 
heart wither and grow old in cheerless 
solitude, than to forget duty and lie upon 
down and drink to the full of the cup of 
Circe ? The road to heaven is through 
the cleansing fires of purgatory. Be still, 
then, my fainting heart; cease thy sighs 
and yearnings, and await eternity’s sever- 
ance of thy chains. If love were all, and 
if it were not that love for me is but as a 


In the Latticed Bower 115 

withered dying creature decked out. for a 
day in bright show and jewels, if it brought 
forgetfulness and exemption, then might I 
yield. But love is not all, and the cold, 
inextinguishable star of duty shines on and 
on, and the sinner cannot blind his eyes 
to his broken faith. Help me, O blessed 
Jesu, not to forget, not to yield, even 
though my striving spirit be bruised and 
broken ! ” 

A sense of shame and regret soon stirred 
within Arthur Glynn, and he hastened to 
put the sheet of paper back in its place. 
But as he read, a great joy filled his soul ; 
none but his sweet saint could have written 
these words, and they were the revelation 
of a character before which he prostrated 
himself in admiration. 

He moved to the door of the latticed 
bower and looked out hopefully, and yet 
in sore pain, thirsting for the sight of her. 
The declining sun stood forth a great red 
ball above the encircling hills, the purple 
deepened in the over-canopying skies, the 


ii6 


Carita 


wind shook the flowering branches of the 
fruit trees, and filled the glorious even- 
ing with delicate fragrance and haunting 
music. 

As he took note of all this, Carita 
Ramirez suddenly appeared before him. 
She was approaching the bower from among 
the trees, a wreath of the yellow bell-like 
jasmine crowning her dark, clustering hair 
and a scarlet pomegranate blossom in her 
hand, — proofs to him, in spite of the 
joyless existence she had chosen, of an in- 
extinguishable love of life and pleasure in 
her own beauty. 

In a moment now she saw him, in evi- 
dent dismay, but walked straight forward 
with scarcely a pause. The grace and light- 
ness of her movements appealed to him 
with all the force of a newly discovered 
charm. He stood still, speaking no word, 
and she came on until no more than a 
space of three feet remained between them. 
He had heard her voice before, — once dur- 
ing the howling of the storm, once in the 


In the Latticed Bower 


117 

stillness of the church, — but its beauty had 
not appeared to him as now, although her 
words, spoken in that rich soft contralto, 
were such as to pierce his heart : — 

“You should not come here. You 
must go away.'’ 

“ I cannot go,” he answered in great 
pain. The sadness of his face seemed 
momentarily to soften, it might be, to 
please her ; for there appeared a flash of 
tenderness in her eyes. He did not fail 
to mark it. Forgetting caution, doubts, 
perplexities, everything, he told her that 
he lived upon the thought of her and 
began to pour out all the ardor of a new, 
absorbing love, to a not unwilling ear, as 
he was not slow to see. Now, as here- 
tofore, her look was not unfriendly — he 
urged. To be thus drawn together im- 
plied a divinely appointed fitness of their 
souls ; surely they were formed for one 
another. Was all this to be lightly disre- 
garded ? Not by him, — he could not. 
Till now he had not lived, till now he had 


ii8 


Carita 


not dreamed, what that life could be the 
soul of which was love. 

‘‘ Will you not even hear me ? ” he 
begged, as she turned her face away. 

^‘You must go — at once,*' she said 
slowly, like one forced. Then, with 
something like a sob, “ Do not think me 
harsh — forgive me ; but I must see you 
no more.” 

The evidence of a slight weakening 
excited him to boldness. He seized her 
hand and held it and kissed it. And she 
at first made no motion to withdraw it, 
but stood passive, looking at him fixedly, 
her eyes glowing with the dawn of a great 
new joy. Only for a moment, then she 
withdrew her hand almost rudely and 
stood further off. 

“Ah, you do not trust me,” he said 
frantically, losing hope. 

“ I fear to trust myself,” she answered 
with a noble frankness, but averting her 
face. “ I think only good of you, but it is 
not the will of God that I should love you.” 


In the Latticed Bower 


119 


“ Why not ? You can at least, in pity, 
tell me why not? ” Then as she faltered 
and seemed shaken, “ Surely you are 
wrong/' 

“ I am not wrong. Between you and 
me a great gulf yawns. Go now. It is 
useless to say more. Go — " she put out 
her hand to him still without looking at 
him — ‘‘ and remember that I think well 
of you, that I would gladly suffer to save 
you pain, but I can see you no more." 

Her hand was again at his lips, and she 
suffered it so to rest one instant, while 
visibly trembling, then snatched it away 
and ran from him. 

“ Carita ! Carita mia ! " 

His hands followed after her, but his 
feet were stayed. He suffered himself to 
cry out with all his heart in his voice, but 
dared not follow. He stood still until 
the crowding fruit trees shut her from his 
sight, then turned and walked reeling 
through the shrubbery toward his horse. 

And yet he was not cast down, being 


120 


Carita 


rather uplifted upon the wings of hope. 
He reflected in a trance-like ecstasy that 
her manner was a seeming betrayal ; it 
might be that, in spite of her command, 
she loved him, or was soon to love him. 
“ See you no more ? You ask too much, 
Carita — my Carita ! ” he cried out wildly, 
with the joy and laughter of an exulting 
heart. 

The sunset’s roseate blush quivered 
and leaped before him as if partaking of 
this joy ; a thrill of sympathy and delight 
passed over the earth and sky. The trees 
gave themselves with trembling rapture 
to the caress of the soft night breeze. 
The very stones beneath his feet seemed 
attuned to the magic of the hour and in 
concord with his exultant happiness. 

But ere the morrow this wildness of ex- 
hilaration had given place to more sober 
thought. On the morrow, too, there 
came to him a letter written in that hand 
which he had seen on the sheets of paper 
in the latticed bower and would never 


In the Latticed Bower 


I2I 


mistake for another. “ If you truly care 
for me/’ it read, “ seek to speak with me 
no more. In the name of kindness, of 
pity, of the blessed Jesu, I beseech you 
to grant me this, the only boon I can 
ever crave at your hands. For your own 
sake as well as mine I humbly implore 
you.” 

This was all, but it was enough to 
darken the noonday sun and awaken 
Arthur Glynn to an unknown weariness 
and horror of life. 

Carita ran breathlessly until she thought 
she might be observed from the residencia. 
She then approached the house, walking 
rapidly, and, having entered, was careful to 
avoid the quarter inhabited by the Sehora 
and herself Ascending to the second 
story, she entered a room which opened 
on the balcony above the court. This 
apartment was fitted up as an oratory, 
with an altar and candlesticks, pictures of 
the Virgin and saints, and an image of the 
Lord upon the cross. Here, all alone. 


122 


Carita 


prostrate before the altar, Carita wept 
bitter tears and prayed and reflected. 

Give me strength and courage, O Jesu, 
give me power not to yield, dear Lord,” 
was the burden of her supplication. It 
was after an hour spent thus that she 
went to her room and wrote the letter 
that reached Arthur Glynn. 

But the next morning, standing alone 
among the plants of the fragrant court, she 
impulsively caught up a bit of the tender, 
clinging love vine and threw it over her 
shoulder, murmuring “Arturo!” And 
although night and morning she repeated 
before the altar the self-same supplication, 
her eyes glowed and her cheeks burned 
with the fiery joy of her soul when, a day 
or two later, she observed that the bit of 
love vine which had fallen upon a branch 
of the coral tree was alive and sending 
forth new tendrils. It was not to die, but 
would live and thrive, a hopeful omen for 
the whispered love of her who cast it there I 
And so, while praying for strength to bear 


In the Latticed Bower 


123 


her cross and sternly resolving not to 
yield, did she contrive to feed her hunger- 
ing soul with the shadow of a hope. 

It was late the same afternoon that 
Padre Serrano appeared at Buena Espe- 
ranza. The Sehora Duran was first closeted 
with him to be shriven, then came the turn 
of the younger lady, who freely confessed 
her real or imagined ' sins of commission 
and omission, with a single reservation : 
she made no mention of the little love 
vine clinging to the coral tree in the court. 
The good Padre might enjoin her to tear 
it from its place and allow it to wither and 
die on the inhospitable stones, and to this 
she could not bring herself to consent. 
She held firmly to her vow as ever, but 
that bit of love vine, typical of the one 
ray of light in the darkness of her life, 
should be left to flourish in the warmth 
of the sun. 

At dark the candles were lighted on the 
altar in the oratory, and then Padre Ser- 
rano appeared in the robes of his office 


124 


Carita 


and recited the vesper service, the Sehora, 
Carita, Pablo, and the woman-servant being 
all assembled there, listening devoutly on 
their knees. The doors opening on the 
balcony were thrown wide, and the light 
of the candles fell faintly across the court, 
dimly outlining a human figure kneeling 
behind the opposite balustrade with face 
turned toward the distant altar and hands 
uplifted in supplication. There was, then, 
a fifth person who assisted at this night 
service. 

The set ritual concluded. Padre Serrano 
faced the penitents, and during some ten 
minutes addressed to them an earnest ex- 
hortation. His words were remarkable 
for their fervor and piety, but more so for 
the loud tones in which they were uttered, 
— quite unnecessarily loud, indeed, had 
they not been evidently intended to reach 
the kneeling figure on the far veranda. 
His homily concluded, the Padre de- 
scended among his hearers and said to 
them : — 


In the Latticed Bower 


125 


‘‘ And now remove yourselves, my chil- 
dren. Don Ignacio must be shriven.’* 
Whereupon they all left the oratory by 
an inner door, and, having given them time 
to reach distant apartments of the house 
and close the doors after them, the Padre 
ventured out on the veranda. Then sink- 
ing upon his knees, and leaning against 
the balustrade, he began to speak across 
to the bowed figure on the balcony over- 
looking the opposite side of the court. 


IX 


Capitan Zorilla 

P ADRE SERRANO mounted his 
horse and rode away at eight o’clock. 
An hour later Pablo knocked at the door 
of the Sehora’s sitting-room and was told 
to enter. The two ladies sat in desultory 
converse, while the younger occupied her- 
self with an altar cloth which she was em- 
broidering, and the elder smoked her final 
(the sixth) cigar for the day. 

“ El Capitan Zorilla,” announced Pablo. 
‘‘ He wishes to speak to Don Ignacio. 
He would also see the ladies, if they will 
honor him.” 

“ Why these fine words ? ” ejaculated 
the Senora, impatiently. He wishes to 
see the ladies^ indeed ! Little he cares to 
see me.” 


126 


Capital! Zorilla 


127 


Carita Ramirez rose with an uneasy air. 

I will announce him,” she said, and went 
out. A few moments later the Sehora and 
Pablo, who still tarried, distinctly heard 
the ringing of a small bell. 

“ How does el capitan seem to-night ? ” 
asked the Sehora. 

“ Discontented, restless, watchful,” was 
the substance of Pablo’s report. 

‘‘He is ready,” said Carita, reenter- 
ing the room a few minutes later. “ Go 
down, Pablo, and conduct the Sehor Zo- 
rilla to the east balcony.” 

The man waiting in the salon did not 
sit down, but walked restlessly back and 
forth until Pablo reentered. He was 
slightly under medium height, but power- 
ful in build and of a commanding pres- 
ence. The pistols in his belt and the 
Toledo ^blade swinging at his side in a 
highly ornamented scabbard only accent- 
uated his native air of authority. The 
elements of the born leader of men were 
in him. He was comparatively young. 


128 


Carita 


his black hair was long and thick, his eyes 
piercing, and his swarthy face was strong 
and bold in outline as well as in expres- 
sion. In his own rude, powerful way he 
was a handsome man, but above all a man 
of will and action. 

As he waited, he continually snapped 
a riding-whip which he carried in his 
hand, indicating not only impatience but 
a surplus of energy. He had no cause 
of complaint, however, for Pablo ap- 
peared after a short delay and conducted 
him to the upper story of the house and 
thence to the balcony on the east side of 
the court, pointing to a rocking-chair on 
the identical spot where Padre Serrano 
had recently kneeled. From this point 
Zorilla discovered a dimly outlined figure 
seated on the veranda across the court, 
and as Pablo quietly and quickly with- 
drew, he called out, — 

‘‘ Are you there, Don Ignacio ? Buenas 
tardes ! ” 

“It is you, Antonio?” was the husky 
but firm response. 


Capitan Zorilla 


29 


“ It is I, the captain, the bandit y the 
malicious would say.” 

And not without reason, I fear, An- 
tonio.” 

“ Muy bien ! what would you have ? 
Even a patriot must live.” 

“Ah, yes, he should live indeed, but 
without despoiling the helpless and bring- 
ing disgrace upon his cause.” 

“ Zorilla has never preyed upon the 
helpless,” was the sharp retort. 

“ But it is done in your name and that 
of the other chiefs.” 

“ Our predatory raids,” the other in- 
sisted, “ are always directed against rich 
and loyal ‘ sugar noblemen ' who are al- 
lied with our enemies. The friends of 
Spanish rule are the foes of our country, 
and it is legitimate warfare to despoil them. 
Besides, we must have money. And how 
else can we get it under present con- 
ditions ? ” 

“ It is better to disband and await the 
time of another general uprising.” 


Carita 


130 


‘‘ Disband ? Surrender and be thrown 
into the dungeons of Moro Castle ? — 
Suffer myself to be choked to death by 
the infernal garrote ? No; I prefer the 
death of a soldier.” 

“ Only the leaders would be threatened 
with such a fate.” 

‘‘Unfortunately,! am one of them,” 
said Zorilla, sarcastically. 

“ But you could escape to Florida. A 
temporary exile — ” 

“ How did you like your own exile ? ” 

“ A temporary exile, I repeat, is better 
than this hopeless game of hide-and- 
seek.” 

“ And meanwhile the cause would lan- 
guish more than ever. No, the few of us 
who still hold out in inaccessible retreats 
form a nucleus from which a future revo- 
lution may grow. We serve to keep 
alive the flame that otherwise would be 
smothered under the iron heel of op- 
pression.” 

“ I am convinced, on the contrary, that 


Capitan Zorilla 13 1 

you are damaging the cause/’ earnestly 
declared the man in the obscurity of the 
distant balcony. In the dim light his 
arm was seen to rise and fall in an in- 
voluntary gesture emphasizing his words. 
“ How many men are now under your 
command ? ” he proceeded to ask. 

“ Ninety-three. Alvarez has nearly as 
many in the Isle of Pines. Marti has 
more than a hundred in the mountains of 
the eastern district, and there are two 
smaller bands about which I am not at 
present informed.” 

‘‘ Muy bien ! You have ninety-three 
men. How many of these are of pure 
blood ” 

“ Twenty-five.” 

“ How many are mulatto ^ ” 

“ Twenty-eight.” 

“ You have, then, forty negroes. Now, 
how many out of your whole band served 
as soldiers in the last revolution ? ” 

‘‘ Seventeen besides myself.” 

“Ah ! that proves my point. In your 


132 


Carita 


band of ninety-three there are only eigh- 
teen men who can rightfully be called 
patriots, and the other seventy-five, what 
are they ? ” 

‘‘Whatever they are, they are devoted 
to the cause of Cuba.*’ 

“Ah, yes ; it is convenient for them to 
be. Do you not see, Antonio, that in- 
stead of forming a nucleus for a future 
revolution, you are furnishing an asylum 
for runaways and escaped criminals, whose 
lawless acts are continually damaging the 
cause ? Respectable sympathizers with 
the cause of freedom stand aghast at 
their atrocities, and are less and less likely 
to come forward. If you have the true 
interest of Cuba at heart, you will shake 
yourself loose from these outlaws ; you 
will disband and wait.” 

“ I have told you why I cannot dis- 
band,” said Zorilla, stiffly ; “ you are all 
wrong. Should we follow your advice, 
the cause of free Cuba would be dead for 
fifty years.” 


Capitan Zorilla 


133 


“This is the year 1885. I predict that 
before ten years are passed this island will 
be in a state of revolt from one end to the 
other, and that Cuba will be free before 
the century is ended.” 

“ God send it,” cried Zorilla, solemnly. 

There followed a short interval of 
silence. 

Then — “What is the state of your 
finances ? ” the man called Don Ignacio 
asked out of the darkness. 

“ Very bad ; something must be done 
very soon.” 

“ Every true patriot is my heart’s 
brother,” was the solemn rejoinder, “ and 
I would give my last doubloon to see 
Cuba free, but the time is past when I 
am willing to be even partly responsible 
for the holding together of a band of 
outlaws who commit highway robbery in 
the name of freedom.” 

“ Don Ignacio ! ” cried the chief, start- 
ing to his feet in anger. “You alone 
can speak thus with impunity to Antonio 


134 


Carita 


Zorilla. But for the respect I bear you, 
and — ” 

Peace, peace,” interrupted the other, 
wearily. I did not include you and the 
few true men who may be with you in 
my denunciation. Let us proceed. I am 
growing cold and must soon go in. If 
you have other matters to speak of, let 
me hear them.” 

It may have been an hour later when 
Antonio Zorilla mounted his horse and 
rode down the avenue of palms. His 
manner was abstracted and he did not 
look about him with his usual watchful- 
ness. It was partly due to this and partly 
to the shadow of a wide-spreading ceiba 
tree at the roadside near the foot of the 
avenue, that he failed to see the horseman 
watching his departure, — a horseman who 
till now had ridden back and forth with 
apparent aimlessness, his eyes fixed upon 
the light in an upper window of the resi- 
dencia. At the approach of Zorilla, he 


Capitan Zorilla 


135 


drew up in the shadow and waited, and 
after the night visitor to Buena Esperanza 
had passed on, he followed warily. 

Zorilla made straight for San Jose, and 
soon after entering the town halted and 
dismounted before the Posada Aguila. 
The horseman who had followed now 
galloped up quickly and boldly, and was 
in time to see the chieftain's face in the 
light of the lamps. 

The face of a stranger, but I shall 
recollect it," was his thought as he passed 
on, presently taking the road to the Des- 
tierros plantation. 

The Posada Aguila, or Eagle Inn, was 
a public house largely patronized by the 
peasantry, but Caballeros as well as peas- 
ants were sometimes seen there, the place 
being known among the initiated as a 
rendezvous of the revolutionist element. 
Zorilla knew the landlord to be both 
friendly and discreet, but he judged it 
best to be careful, and before entering 
the wine room, he so arranged his broad- 


136 


Carita 


brimmed hat that all but the lower part 
of his face was thrown into shadow. He 
seated himself at a vacant table near the 
door and ordered wine. 

At the table nearest him sat three young 
men drinking and discussing a game of 
cards which they had just finished. The 
most striking figure of the three was Felipe 
Ocana, the matador, he being distinguished 
by the physical robustness and perfection 
of the trained athlete. The other two 
were the handsome little gallant, Sebas- 
tiano Rios, and his friend Carlos. 

In spite of his shadowed face and the 
subdued voice in which he gave his 
order, Zorilla was recognized. And by ^ 
none other than Sebastiano, who had 
frequently seen the revolutionist captain 
during the last insurrection, the former 
being then a youth. The result, how- 
ever, was nothing more than the following 
conversation, which Sebastiano cunningly 
brought about. 

“ Do you know, friend Felipe,” he 


Capital! Zorilla 


137 


began, “that a very rich man has come 
among us ? 

“Ah? Who is it, then?” 

“ Don Arturo Glynn, whose father 
died at the Destierros.” 

“ What ! — he a rich man ? ” exclaimed 
Carlos, incredulously. “ That is news. I 
have heard that Don Roger, his father, 
died embarrassed.** 

“True,** said the smiling Sebastiano, 
“ but it is said Don Arturo has inherited 
an immense fortune in America.** 

“Ah — so? Un heredero rico. That 
is fine.** 

“ He is an American Croesus. You 
have heard, it may be, how rich those 
Americans are. I have read in the papers 
of certain Senores Astor and Senores Van- 
derbilt who are rich enough to buy all 
Cuba, though that, indeed, is perhaps a 
lie. And now the Senor Glynn is almost 
as rich as these.** 

Zorilla had pricked up his ears and was 
listening intently. 


Carita 


138 


“ But what, then, is he doing here at 
the Destierros ? ” 

It is thought that he aspires to be- 
come one of our ‘sugar noblemen/ A 
small portion of his riches poured into 
Spanish coffers would purchase the title 
of marques. That would sound well in 
America, do you not see ? ” 

“ Muy bien. Good luck to his Cuban 
lordship,’' said Felipe Ocaha, heartily. 
“ He will no doubt spend money on bulls 
and matadors.” 

“ If I were Antonio Zorilla,” proceeded 
Sebastiano, impressively, “ I should make 
the acquaintance of the rich Sehor Glynn. 
He can afford to stand a little bleeding. 

“ But they say Zorilla never meddles 
with anybody but rich and loyal Span- 
iards,” put in Carlos, “ and those Ameri- 
canos are known to sympathize with the 
cause he represents.” 

“Ah, but this would-be marquis does 
not,” declared Sebastiano, readily. “ His 
sympathies are all with Spain, it is said. 


Capitan Zorilla 


139 


It would be no surprise to hear that he 
had contributed money to the military 
fund. You see, free Cuba would mean 
a republic and the exit of marquises.” 

“ The exit of bulls and matadors, too, 
perhaps,” remarked Felipe Ocaha, show- 
ing no enthusiasm at the prospect of a free 
Cuba. 

Zorilla drained his glass, rose, and went 
out, followed by the watchful glance of 
Sebastiano, who smiled with satisfaction. 

“ He swallowed it eagerly,” was his 
thought, “and we may expect develop- 
ments. When el capitan finds that I have 
uttered only fables, he may rid himself of 
his prisoner in the way that will cause the 
least inconvenience. If not, I may find 
other means.” 

Sebastiano Rios was the son of a well- 
to-do tradesman in San Jose, and had not 
been bred to that extremely delicate sense 
of personal honor which characterizes the 
Spanish and Cuban caballero. He did not, 
therefore, regard a personal encounter with 


140 


Carita 


Arthur Glynn as necessary, the indignity 
put upon him by the latter not having be- 
come public. Besides, it was reasonable 
that he should fear the consequences. 
After mature reflection, he had decided 
not to challenge his enemy to combat, but 
to fight him secretly. 


X 


The Bait is Taken 

T ime heals all wounds. The weari- 
ness and horror of life that seized 
upon Arthur Glynn on reading the letter 
that came to him from Buena Esperanza 
did not last. He was too young and of 
too buoyant a nature to long surrender 
himself to the deadly apathy of despair. 
After a few days his bowed spirit was 
again uplifted and he began hopefully to 
indite a letter. He wrote even a fuller 
expression of his love than he had uttered 
when face to face with Carita Ramirez in 
the latticed bower. He assured her of 
his perfect trust in spite of all the strange- 
ness and suggestion of her surroundings, 
and he offered her the unchanging love of 
a loyal and devoted heart as a refuge from 

141 


142 


Carita 


the painful troubled mystery which ap- 
peared to hedge about her young life. 

Had she told him that she loved an- 
other (he concluded), that would have 
ended all. She did not love another ; he 
knew it, felt it, and there was no other 
obstacle that could remain between them 
permanently. The barriers now separat- 
ing them would and must be removed 
in time ; whatever they were, if only they 
involved no love for another man, they 
would gradually break away. Upon this 
hope he lived ; in this hope he awaited 
that heaven of the future, resolved to 
endure till then the hard affliction of exile 
which she had been pleased to lay upon 
him. 

Days passed, bringing no response 
whatever to this affecting appeal, but the 
hope that springs eternal ’’ never entirely 
deserted Arthur Glynn. As yet having 
suffered no great disappointment or failure 
in life, he could not wholly believe that 
such a stern fate might now await him. 


The Bait is Taken 


143 


Although he daily longed to stand again 
within the hallowed precincts of the lat- 
ticed bower, he sternly resisted his desires. 
But occasionally of an evening he took 
the road to Buena Esperanza and slowly 
passed and repassed the foot of the avenue 
of palms, his eyes fixed absently upon the 
lights of the residencia while he inwardly 
visioned the rare, the radiant, the sweet 
saint who dwelt there. It was thus that 
he once encountered Zorilla, and seeing 
him to be comparatively young and in his 
own way handsome, poor Arthur began 
to be tortured with new anxieties and 
moments of a lover's mad jealousy. 

At the Destierros, notwithstanding his 
preoccupation and suffering, he now soon 
assumed the reins of government with a 
firm hand and went energetically about 
his affairs, preparing for the coming 
season of ceaseless activity that began 
with December. No one but his mother 
knew that he was dissatisfied. Toward 
Miss Ray his manner was polite and cous- 


144 


Carita 


inly, but not devoted. He drove her out 
and made efforts to please her, but she 
saw that he had not succumbed to her 
charms, and, out of the narrowness and 
selfhood of a small mind, disliked him 
accordingly. She drew constant compari- 
sons, to his discredit, between his sincere 
and direct manner and the flattering 
speeches and grand hidalgo airs and 
graces of Don Alfredo. There was in- 
finitesimal likelihood, therefore, that the 
plans of Roger Glynn would ever be seen 
in their fruition. 

Within a week after Zorilla’s appear- 
ance at the Posada Aguila an event oc- 
curred which startled the family at the 
Destierros. Arthur Glynn and Willis, 
his negro overseer, had spent the after- 
noon at San Jose on business connected 
with the purchase of supplies for the 
plantation, and started homeward at sun- 
set. As they trotted over the loneliest 
part of the road in the gathering night, 
the negro talking loudly and cheerfully of 


The Bait is Taken 


H5 


the affairs at home, Arthur was suddenly 
conscious of a stinging, tearing pain in his 
left arm and at the same instant heard the 
report of a revolver close at hand. Turn- 
ing in the saddle and reining his horse, 
he looked back in time to see the faint 
outlines of the head and shoulders of a 
man subsiding behind the hedge of Span- 
ish bayonet on his left. Like every one 
else, Arthur went armed when riding in 
the country, not to do so being regarded 
as the height of imprudence. He now 
quickly drew a pistol and fired into the 
hedge, regardless of the negro’s cry : — 

‘‘ Robbers ! robbers ! We got to git up 
and git ! ” 

The report of his revolver was lost in a 
much greater volume of sound.. A volley 
of not less than three or four firearms 
was discharged from behind the hedge 
and the bullets whistled about the two ex- 
posed horsemen, leaving them untouched 
through a wonder of good fortune. 

Come on ! or dey’ll sho’ git us ! ” cried 


146 


Carita 


the terrified Willis, seizing hold of his 
reluctant master's bridle and driving his 
spurs against the flanks of his own beast. 
Then as they sped forward out of reach : 
“ In de name o' goodness, boss, did you 
aim to stop dere and fight a whole passel 
o' robbers ? You don' know dese Cuban 
robbers. Dey don' do to fool wid." 

“ Scoundrels ! If I could only have seen 
one of them ! " was the fierce rejoinder. 

A great sensation followed their arrival 
at the residencia. Arthur appeared pale 
from excitement, and with the blood run- 
ning in a stream down his left wrist. His 
mother rose to meet him with a cry of 
alarm, but composed herself and promptly 
attended to his wants. With the assist- 
ance of Willis, she stripped him to the 
waist, and was overjoyed to find only a 
flesh wound in the left forearm, the bullet 
having passed in and out without serious 
result, as eventually appeared, although the 
bleeding was for some time copious, excit- 
ing fears that some important vein had 


The Bait is Taken 


147 


been severed. A vessel containing water 
was held by Willis and a cold stream 
poured over the wound during some 
minutes, with the result that the bleeding 
gradually slackened, until they were able 
to wrap the arm in bandages saturated 
with healing ointment. All this before 
the surgeon hastily sent for had even 
arrived. 

It is very strange, very strange,*' re- 
peated Mrs. Glynn, as her son lay quietly 
on a lounge in her sitting-room that night. 
“ It could hardly have been Zorilla's men, 
for they are said to attack rarely and only 
in order to plunder some rich and loyal 
planter. And I have never heard of ordi- 
nary footpads so near San Jose.** 

“ They were certainly bandits of some 
sort,** said Arthur, coolly. ‘‘ I have no 
personal enemies, except little Sebastiano 
Rios, and he would hardly resort to this, 
I think.** 

In response to inquiry, he told the story 
of his summary disposal of Rios in the 


148 


Carita 


church, his mother laughing and looking 
at him proudly as she listened. He spoke 
of Carita Ramirez only as “ a lady.'' 

‘‘ Do you know who she was ? " asked 
Mrs. Glynn, suddenly grown serious, and 
now Arthur regretted he had spoken. 

One of the ladies living at Buena Es- 
peranza," he answered, with evident hesi- 
tancy. 

‘‘ The younger one " 

« Yes." 

‘‘ O Arthur, I know now what has been 
the matter with you," said his mother, 
with solemn, lowered voice. That — 
that woman has fascinated you ! " 

‘‘ Well, is she to blame for that ? " he 
asked almost rudely, resenting her tone, 
and willing to confess his love in his over- 
powering desire to defend. ‘‘ She did not 
seek it, and now that she knows it, she 
will not even see me." 

“Ah, yes, that is because she prefers 
Zorilla. I have heard how the bandit 
Zorilla is the only visitor allowed at that 
house." 


The Bait is Taken 


149 


She is an angel of heaven ! ” was the 
passionate cry of the tortured lover. 

‘^Angels have fallen before her time,” 
was the pitiless suggestion that followed. 

And so poor Arthur, from a state of 
tranquillity, passed to one of intense agita- 
tion. His mother had forgotten his wound 
in a greater anxiety, and thought not of 
the wretched, wakeful night, or of the fever 
with his wound throughout the morrow 
which would result from this conversation. 
At the expiration of ten days, however, 
his wound had entirely healed and long 
before that time he began to go about his 
affairs as usual. 

The attempted robbery or assassination 
was promptly reported to the guardia civil, 
but such efforts as were made to discover 
the whereabouts and nature of the at- 
tacking party apparently proved fruitless. 
The powerlessness of the authorities to 
suppress these highwaymen was shown by 
the fact that, within three weeks of the 
first, a second attack was made on Arthur 


150 


Carita 


Glynn, scarcely two miles distant from 
San Jose. 

Riding homeward alone somewhat later 
in the evening than before, he became ab- 
sorbed in thought and scarcely noted a 
cavalier of doubtful appearance who gal- 
loped up from behind him and with a 
perfunctory ‘‘ Buenas tardes ! clattered 
onward out of sight in the dusk. Had 
Arthur still retained the watchfulness of 
manner that characterized him for several 
days after he began to go abroad again, he 
might now have observed that the passing 
horseman resembled a man he had seen 
twice that afternoon in the town, and once 
under such circumstances as to suggest 
that he was the agent in a system of es- 
pionage of which he himself was the 
object. 

Riding forward, Arthur thought of noth- 
ing but his apparently hopeless love, with 
now and then a diverted moment of con- 
templation devoted to the always wonder- 
ful cocuyo insect which was filling the early 


The Bait is Taken 


111 

night with a thousand floating stars. The 
Cuban fire-fly is triple the size of the 
American and infinitely more brilliant, so 
brilliant indeed that, as Arthur well re- 
membered, the negroes of the Destierros 
were wont to confine large numbers of 
them in tiny wicker cages, thus securing 
sufficient light for ordinary purposes in 
their barracoons at night. 

Moving forward thus, as it were through 
a shower of stars, Arthur Glynn suddenly 
resumed his watchful air with a start on 
seeing the indistinct outlines of two men 
squatting against the hedge, their presence 
revealed in the flash of the cocuyos* 
torches. His right hand had barely 
touched the pistol in his belt when he 
heard the whispered command to fire. 
An instant later a sheet of flame leaped 
out from the hedge and the roar of several 
firearms simultaneously discharged was 
heard. The rider was left unharmed, — 
evidently a part of the plan of the ambus- 
cade, — but the horse, after one forward 


152 


Carita 


plunge, fell dead, pierced by some half 
a dozen bullets. 

Arthur found himself thrown violently 
to the ground and was unable to spring 
to his feet, one leg being pinned down by 
the body of the horse. But his pistol 
was in his hand, and without pausing to 
reflect he fired as several dark forms 
leaped toward him brandishing swords 
and broad-bladed machetes. 

One of these staggered, fell prostrate 
over the legs of the horse, and did not rise 
again. Before he could fire a second shot 
the defenceless man was overpowered. 
The pistol being wrenched from his grasp, 
he was securely bound and dragged a few 
yards along the road to a clump of hedge 
trees, where several horses were in waiting. 

Arthur was at first dumb with astonish- 
ment, having expected to be either robbed 
or murdered ; but as he was rudely lifted 
upon the back of a horse, he burst out 
fiercely in a demand to know what was 
to be done with him. No answer being 


The Bait is Taken 


153 


made, the captive was left to uncertain 
and wild conjectures as his kidnappers 
rode swiftly away with him in the night. 

There was anxiety at the Destierros 
that evening when the time for Arthur's 
return had overpassed. There was con- 
sternation the next morning when Willis 
reported that his horse was lying dead 
on the road, pierced with bullets, and with 
a letter thrust between his teeth addressed 
to “ los amigos del Senor Don Arturo 
Glynn." At a very early hour the black 
man returned to the house with this letter 
and the bridle and saddle taken from the 
dead horse. The former was found to be 
a formal notice to the friends of Don 
Arthur that he had been kidnapped and 
would be held for ransom. 

After naming an enormous sum as ne- 
cessary to redeem the captive, the notice 
set forth that if the money should be sent 
on a certain day to a certain spot near 
a village in the neighboring mountains, 
through the medium of a discreet and 


154 


Carita 


unarmed messenger, the captive would be 
promptly liberated. It was further stated 
that the whole neighborhood would be 
watched on the day appointed and any 
meditated treachery would be promptly 
detected and sternly dealt with. The 
letter concluded with the startling state- 
ment that if the government were ap- 
pealed to and troops sent against those 
now in charge of the prisoner, the life 
of the latter was from that moment sacri- 
ficed. 

As all this was read aloud in translation 
by Mrs. Glynn, assisted by little Phil, 
who read Spanish better than English, 
cries of horror and grief were uttered by 
Miss Ray, the boy, and the black man ; 
but the mother shed no tear nor uttered 
a sob, though all the blood in her veins 
rushed toward her heart. With a face of 
marble she arose and despatched swift 
messengers to Padre Serrano and Don 
Alfredo Rodriguez, waiting then with 
enforced composure till fleet horses had 


The Bait is Taken 


155 


brought these two friends to the Destier- 
ros, one immediately after the other. 

Then a council was held in the salon, 
only these two gentlemen, the tearful 
Miss Ray, and the dry-eyed mother being 
present. All looked at the Padre as if 
expecting some immediate and fruitful 
suggestion from him. 

“ Do you think the threat forbidding 
an appeal to the military would in that 
event be carried out ? ’’ asked Mrs. Glynn, 
in Spanish, a little hoarsely but quietly. 

“ Undoubtedly,” answered Padre Ser- 
rano. 

Undoubtedly,” echoed Don Alfredo. 
“They are desperate men, these bando- 
leros.” 

“Then,” was the husky rejoinder, the 
mother's face a shade paler, “ they demand 
what is impossible. The ransom cannot 
be paid, not even if I sell the Destierros. 
What then ^ ” 

“ Will they dare to kill him ? ” cried 
Miss Mabel Ray, bursting into sobs. 


156 


Carita 


“ Oh, if I only had a true friend, my cousin 
would be rescued !” Now that fear, gen- 
erous affection, the milk of human kind- 
ness, were stirred to activity within her, 
this young lady forgot everything, even 
Arthur's failure to flatter her vanity, and 
she would right gladly have seen her de- 
voted Don Alfredo run even a fearful risk 
for the sake of her indifferent cousin. 

“ Rest assured, madam,” promptly re- 
sponded the former, with an agitated coun- 
tenance, that all that man can do will be 
done. But we must move cautiously,” 
he added, turning to the others. “We 
might send a messenger and treat for a 
lower ransom,” he suggested, with some 
hesitation. 

“ What do you advise. Padre ? ” asked 
the mother, feverishly. 

“ I advise you to do nothing,” was the 
answer, and all stared at the priest in 
wonder. “ Make no appeal to the gov- 
ernment at Havana,” he continued ; “ do 
not inform the guardia civil. Wait. For 


The Bait is Taken 


157 


the present leave the matter to me. The 
name of the village where the ransom is to 
be paid convinces me that Arthur is in the 
hands of Zorilla's men. Now I know a 
person who has great influence with Zo- 
rilla, and I think that through him I can 
obtain your son's release. At any rate, it 
is worth the effort. Meanwhile any appeal 
to the authorities will only anger Zorilla 
and lessen our chances." 

But who — " began Mrs. Glynn. 

“ Do not ask me, I beg, but trust me 
and wait. If you agree to my proposal, I 
shall set about the affair this instant." 

“ Then — we will wait," was the mother's 
half-reluctant decision, delivered in a voice 
that was shaken with suppressed sobs. 
‘‘We came to Cuba," was her thought, 
“ to escape from anticipated insufferable 
evils in the Southern States. Could any- 
thing we left behind be worse than this ? 
We had better have stayed in America. 
God speed you. Padre," she said aloud, 
as the priest hurriedly took his leave. 


158 


Carita 


“If his plan fail,” said Don Alfredo 
when alone with Miss Ray a few moments 
later, “mine will not. I, too, have a 
plan,” he said, ardently. 

“At least I shall learn if there be a 
man who loves me,” the lady answered 
with a lofty indifferent air which made 
him the more firmly resolved to make 
great sacrifices, even of a pecuniary sort, 
rather than lose favor at her court. It is 
said that love laughs at locksmiths ; his 
contempt for the most tightly drawn 
purse-strings is no whit less serene. 

Meanwhile Padre Serrano was riding 
hard and alone on the road to Buena 
Esperanza. 


XI 


Little PhiFs Adventure 
ERY early on the following morn- 



V ing the black man Willis was astir. 
Woe had fallen upon the Destierros ; the 
young master was in captivity and death 
hung over him, but nevertheless the work 
must go on. Back and forth between the 
barracoons and the fields rode Willis, 
directing and urging, now and again ex- 
postulating, and enforcing his commands 
with threats of what el amo would do if 
the business in hand were not promptly 
and faithfully executed. The American 
negro's position at his employer's right 
hand was long since established and even 
the hired white laborers were wont to 
listen to him respectfully, though he was 
as much hated by some of them as he was 
feared by not a few blacks and coolies. 


i6o 


Carita 


The overseer had seen the work for 
the day well started and was on his way 
toward the house to receive his mistress* 
commands when he observed little Phil 
riding toward him at a full gallop. The 
boy was dressed in his ordinary clothes, 
but what struck Willis with astonishment 
was the huge leathern belt buckled round 
his waist, in which were thrust a gleam- 
ing machete and two formidable-looking 
pistols. The youngster rode straight to 
meet the black man, and both halted when 
within a few feet of each other. 

Look like you gwine off to jine de 
army,** remarked Willis, interrogatingly. 
‘‘ Where you git dem pistols ^ ** 

“ I took *em,** was the laconic response. 
“ Pm goin* to find Arthur,** the boy 
added mysteriously. 

‘‘ Look yuh, Phil, is you gone crazy 
dis mornin* ? What in de name o* com- 
mon sense ! Always look like to me you 
had good sense till dis minute ! ** Willis 
paused for want of adequate words. 


Little Phil’s Adventure 


i6i 


“ I want you to go with me,” continued 
little Phil, ignoring the negro’s irreverent 
comment. 

‘‘ Who — me ? ” 

If you won’t, then I’m goin’ by my- 
self.” 

‘‘You want dem robbers to carve you 
into mince-meat, boy ? ” 

“ Zorilla won’t let them hurt me. He 
knows me.” 

“ Go ’way from yuh and quit yo’ foolin’, 
boy ! ” cried Willis with a loud guffaw. 

“Yes, he does,” asserted little Phil, 
earnestly. “He knows me and he likes 
me, too.” 

“ Well ef dat don’ beat all ! Did you 
sleep in de moonlight las’ night ? ” asked 
the negro, curiously. “ ’Cause sump’n is 
sho’ addled yo’ brains.” 

“ Well, are you goin’ or not ? ” de- 
manded the boy, angrily, disdaining to 
prove his assertion. 

“ Who, me ? No-suh-ree ! No use 
fo’ me to gie Zorilla a chance to tan my 


M 


j 62 


Carita 


hide all for nuthin’. My business is to 
stay right yuh an' look atter dis place tell 
de Padre see what he kin do. Dat what 
yo' ma say to me yistiddy evenin'." 

‘‘ Muy bien," said the boy in evident dis- 
gust, and, putting spurs to his horse, he 
galloped on. 

“ You better go back to dat house and 
put up dem pistols," Willis called after 
him. I gwine right straight and tell yo' 
ma." 

This threat produced absolutely no ef- 
fect, and the little cavalier was soon beyond 
hearing. Willis rode quietly toward the 
residencia, concluding after a few moments' 
reflection to say nothing to his mistress, 
who suffered from too many afflictions al- 
ready. With regard to his own anxieties, 
the black man consoled himself with the 
reasonable conjecture that the boy would 
have enough of the proposed expedition 
and return home of his own accord after a 
ride of three or four miles. 

But it was far from likely that the boy 


Little Phirs Adventure 163 


would be satisfied with so little. The haz- 
ardous expedition had been seriously un- 
dertaken, and little Phil was really hopeful 
of success. His determination to attempt 
it resulted in part from his belief in Zo- 
rilla’s friendship for himself, in part from 
native cleverness and courage, and finally 
from the effects of exciting reading. In 
the feuilleton of a Cuban newspaper that 
came regularly to the Destierros he had 
read a series of blood-curdling tales that 
put to shame the tamer records of the 
American “ nickel libraries and the Eng- 
lish penny dreadfuls. Filled with the 
deceptive ardors of callow youth, he 
thought none so happy as- he who went 
forth to battle by sea and land, who daily 
gave and received sword thrusts in mortal 
combat, who cut pirates' throats and lan- 
guished in robbers' caves, and who, through 
miracles of chance, returned whole of limb 
in the end with only a few honorable scars 
and bruises in evidence of his mighty ad- 
ventures. Underlying all this was now. 


164 


Carita 


of course, an intense desire on the part of 
little Phil to secure his brother s safety. 

Crossing the plantation, the boy galloped 
along a lane between two neighboring es- 
tates. He then took the road leading 
toward the mountains through a long 
stretch of thinly settled country covered 
for the most part with cedar, ebony, ma- 
hogany, and other timber in its primitive 
state. Here and there a small farmer’s 
modest palm-thatched hut, shaded by a few 
palms and banana trees, would be seen in 
a clearing of a few acres devoted to the 
growth of tobacco, yams, and a variety of 
fruits ; but the large sugar and coffee es- 
tates were now left behind. 

The morning was fine. The luxuriant 
vegetation rioted in the warm, intense sun- 
shine. Bright-colored birds flew up on 
every hand, now with a sweet or merry 
chirp, now with a harsh croak or scream. 
Gorgeous lizards and chameleons darted 
into the hedges of aloe and wild pine. 
The air was full of the fragrance of in- 


Little Phil’s Adventure 165 

numerable flowering plants and climbing 
vines ; for, although it was now autumn, 
this country of perpetual bloom still wore 
the smile of spring. The cheerfulness of 
the sun-kissed landscape inspired the little 
knight-errant with renewed courage and 
hope. 

About an hour after leaving home, 
meanwhile having made good speed, the 
boy perceived a horseman travelling stead- 
ily forward on the road ahead of him, 
apparently bent on a journey to the moun- 
tains. Already on the lookout for Zoril- 
la’s men, little Phil eyed him warily from 
afar. There were pistols in the holster of 
his saddle and a Toledo blade hung at 
his side, but the shirt hanging outside his 
trousers and his whole manner indicated 
either a robber in disguise or a harmless 
peasant farmer. 

After some hesitation the boy ventured 
to overtake and accost the traveller. 

‘‘ Hola, Pablo ! ” he presently exclaimed, 
relieved to see a familiar face. 


i66 


Carita 


It was indeed the nut-brown little man 
from Buena Esperanza riding forth upon 
his own dear steed (Pablo inherited the 
love of his remote Moorish ancestors for 
a horse), with his own sharp sword of 
Toledo, his glistening silver spurs, and 
with an unusually solemn and important 
air. He showed great surprise, but saluted 
the boy with grave dignity. 

What does little master Felipe here ? '' 
he asked in the peasant dialect, with which 
the boy was familiar. 

I am going to Zorilla’s camp. Where 
are you going ? ” 

“ I ? I am on my way to — El Monte,” 
Pablo answered with hesitation, mention- 
ing the name of the village where the 
ransom was to be paid. 

‘‘Then may I ride with you as far as 
that ? ” asked little Phil, eagerly. “ Eh, 
Pablo, mi amigo ? ” 

Pablo fixed his little black eyes in- 
tently on the boy as he answered : “ With 
pleasure, little master, if such is your 


Little PhiFs Adventure 167 


will ; but wherefore go you to Zorilla's 
camp ? ** 

“To find my brother. Have you not 
heard that he has been taken prisoner ? ” 

“ Ah, yes. And — and have you the 
money for the ransom ? asked the little 
man, more and more astonished. 

“I? Nobody has as much money as 
that ! ” 

“ You go without the money ? Pablo 
stopped short and the boy likewise drew 
rein. “ And does the Senora, your mother, 
know of this ? 

“No, I knew better than to tell her.” 

“ Go back, little master,” urged Pablo, 
anxiously. “You do not know what 
danger you go into. The Senora, your 
mother, has sorrow enough this day.” 

“ Pm not afraid,” declared little Phil, 
confidently. “ Zorilla is my friend.” 

“ Are you mad, little master ? What is 
all this ? ” 

“ Do you see this purse ? Zorilla gave 
it to me himself with four doubloons in it 


i68 


Carita 


in gold and silver.” The boy held up 
triumphantly before the astonished yeo- 
man's eyes a silken purse on which was 
plainly embroidered the name ‘‘Antonio 
Zorilla.” 

“ Santa Maria ! it is true,” gasped Pablo. 
“ But how — ” 

“ One day in the cockpit at San Jose, I 
won a bet from a Chinese beggar,” ex- 
plained little Phil, “and he looked so 
miserable and broken-hearted that I was 
sorry for him and gave the money back to 
him. Then a man took me by the arm 
and led me out of the crowd, and he 
looked at me as if he liked me very much. 
And he said, ‘You are a fine little man, 
and you shall have more than you gave 
back to that coolie ; ' and then he gave 
me this purse and before I could thank 
him or say a word, off he went into the 
crowd again. I didn't see him again, 
but when I found the name on the purse 
I knew that it was the famous Zorilla in 
disguise. I didn't tell them about it at 


Little Phirs Adventure 169 


home,” the boy added frankly, “ because I 
didn't want them to know I had been to 
the cockpit. But I have kept the purse 
and every centimo of the money.” 

“And you will tell Don Antonio — ” 

“ I will give him back his purse,” cried 
the boy, with a flushed cheek and a dancing 
eye, “ and ask for my brother in exchange ! ” 

“ It is wonderful,” mused Pablo, look- 
ing at little Phil with undisguised admi- 
ration. “ Indeed, this brave boy is not so 
mad after all. His plan may serve, should 
my master's fail. At all events, he will 
not be harmed with that purse in his hand, 
and I run no additional risk in taking him 
with me.” 

“ Now will you let me go with you to 
El Monte ? ” asked the youngster, with a 
confident smile. 

“Ay, little master, and to the camp of 
Capitan Zorilla, too, for I am bound 
thither. We will go there together, and 
may the good God send us safe home 
again.” 


Carita 


170 

And so they rode forward, little Phil 
chatting hopefully and Pablo listening and 
saying little. The latter’s manner was 
uniformly kind and friendly, but he re- 
mained to the last resolutely uncommu- 
nicative. All the clever lad’s questions 
were skilfully evaded and he learned abso- 
lutely nothing concerning the object of his 
companion’s mission to Zorilla’s camp. 

At noon they reached the village of 
El Monte, a straggling double row of 
peasants’ huts of stone and sun-dried 
bricks in the foot-hills of a bold range of 
mountains. Brown women in high-col- 
ored bandanas and red mantillas stood 
about the doors, in the midst of slatternly, 
half-clothed family groups, — the children 
under ten years, indeed, quite naked. 
An occasional horseman of doubtful ap- 
pearance rode in and out of the settle- 
ment, and rough-looking gitano-like men 
and boys, the former armed to the teeth, 
sauntered aimlessly along the single street 
winding up hill and down dale. 


Little Phil's Adventure 


All these stared curiously, sometimes, it 
seemed, suspiciously, at Pablo and little 
Phil, but in all cases saluted them with a 
grave and stately courtesy of manner that 
would have become a king. Halting at a 
little casa de posada, the travellers refreshed 
themselves with a bountiful breakfast of 
sausages and garlic, fried bananas, blood- 
colored rice, casava bread, aguardiente, and 
coffee. Little Phil ate quickly and begged 
that they might push on without delay ; 
but the more deliberate Pablo insisted 
on a halt of an hour, during which time 
he ate and drank copiously, and smoked 
no less than three cigars. Finally, they 
mounted and pursued their journey with- 
out question or molestation from the 
armed loiterers about the village, who, 
however, marked their going as well as 
their coming in a watchful manner. 

The ground soon began to rise precipi- 
tately before them, and the afternoon was 
spent in toiling up steep slopes, crossing 
shallow, roaring mountain torrents full of 


Carita 


172 

huge, slippery stones, and in picking the 
way along dangerous pathways over nar- 
row, rocky ledges which hung above 
yawning ravines. No sooner had they 
left the village a good five miles behind 
them, than they began to encounter here 
and there an armed man, either on horse- 
back or afoot, who promptly challenged 
them and allowed them to proceed only 
after Pablo had shown a letter with 
Zorilla’s name on it, and uttered a few 
words of explanation in a tone usually too 
low for even little Phif s quick ear. Once 
or twice, however, the boy distinguished 
the word mensajero ” (messenger). Two 
or three of these men, who were evidently 
on sentinel or scouting duty, were, toward 
the last, encountered in the course of every 
mile. They were nearly all mulattoes or 
negroes of forbidding aspect, the former 
especially being a low-browed, blood- 
thirsty looking lot. 

At five o'clock in the afternoon, in the 
remote fastnesses of the sierras, at what 


Little Phirs Adventure 


173 


appeared to be an outpost of Zorilla’s 
camp, they were ordered to stop and were 
not allowed to proceed until nightfall, a 
guide being then furnished them. After 
some two hours more of slow and tedious 
travel through rocky defiles and stretches 
of gloomy forest, they emerged upon a 
comparatively level and open space, sur- 
rounded by high, bare rocks, where fires 
burned and several white tents gleamed 
in the starlight. The number of men — 
whites, mulattoes, and negroes — collected 
here about the fires and posted as sentinels 
appeared to be considerable. 

After some little delay the visitors were 
conducted into one of the larger tents, 
which was furnished with a light, movable 
bed, a table for writing, camp-chairs, and 
palm-leaf mats. A man of powerful build, 
with a face of strong and bold outlines, sat 
writing at the table, and as soon as he 
looked up little Phil recognized the owner 
of the silken purse. 

“ Ah, it is you, Pablo ? ” said Zorilla, 


174 


Carita 


facing them. “ What brings you here ? 
But — this boy he ejaculated, seeing 
little Phil. 

“ He is the brother of the Sehor Glynn,** 
stammered Pablo, all of a tremble. 

“ And with you ^ What does this 
mean ? ** the chief demanded, with a 
piercing look directed at the boy. 

“ I fell in with him on the road. He 
was bound thither of his own motion and 
could not be persuaded to turn back.** 

‘‘ He does not bring the ransom then ?** 
No, comandante. He — *' 

‘‘ Why then is he here ? ** interrupted 
Zorilla, annoyed and angry. 

“ Do you not remember me. Captain 
Zorilla ? ** asked little Phil, pale with 
excitement, but taking two steps forward 
and speaking out bravely. ‘‘ I am the 
boy to whom you gave this purse in the 
cockpit at San Jose last spring.** 

‘‘ I remember you perfectly,** said the 
chief after a moment, but knitting his 
brows as if puzzled. “And you are the 


Little Phil’s Adventure 


175 


brother — I supposed you were a 
Cuban.” 

I am Cuban born, Sehor. My mother 
is American, but she has lived here twenty 
years.” 

‘‘And yet you are the brother of this 
American Don ? ” 

“It is quite true, comandante,” spoke 
up Pablo, eagerly. “The Sehor Glynn 
himself came to Cuba as a child.” 

“ There is a misunderstanding,” said 
Zorilla, still puzzled. “ But what are you 
here for, my lad ? ” he asked. 

“To give you back your purse, — the 
four doubloons are still in it, — and to ask 
for my brother in exchange,” answered 
the boy, with a trembling lip but an 
undaunted eye. 

It was clear that the lawless chief was 
much moved. He threw back his head 
with a snort, and his beak-like nose was 
thrown into bolder outline. He darted 
a piercing glance at Pablo and then 
looked back at the trembling boy; and 


176 


Carita 


when he spoke his changed tone indi- 
cated suppressed feeling. He mechani- 
cally took the purse that was held out 
to him, and was evidently doubtful what 
to do with it. At last, after a pause that 
was one of painful suspense to Pablo as 
well as to little Phil, he said: — 

“You have done a brave and manly 
thing, my boy. The heart of a soldier is 
born in you. Cuba needs all her brave 
sons ; God send the day when you will 
fight for her freedom. My heart moves 
me to grant the wish of so fine a lad, 
but — and Zorilla hesitated, toying with 
the silken purse — “present needs must 
be considered, and they are pressing, and 
— such as you cannot understand.” 

Again he stopped, evidently undecided, 
looking absently at the purse in his hand 
and then back at the pleading face of the 
boy. All at once he burst into a laugh, 
and the expression of his face hardened. 

“ But this, — this handful, is not a slave 
boy's ransom,” he said, shaking the purse 


Little PhiFs Adventure 


177 


so that the chink of the gold and silver 
was heard. 

“It is all I have/’ said little Phil, husk- 
ily, his face the picture of despair. 

“ Hola, there, Manuel ! ” cried Zorilla 
suddenly, calling to a sentinel just outside 
the door. “Take this boy to Guzman’s 
tent and say that he is to be treated with 
every consideration. I will speak with 
you again,” he said, dismissing little Phil. 
“ Now, Pablo, your business ? ” 

And, as the bewildered boy was led 
away, he looked back and saw his travel- 
ling companion deliver two letters into 
Zorilla’s hands. 

N 


XII 


The Bandoleros 

FTER an hour's rapid ride, Arthur 



jL\. Glynn was no longer able to recog- 
nize his whereabouts or to determine the 
direction his kidnappers were taking. He 
soon saw, however, that they were enter- 
ing the mountainous district and knew 
that they had penetrated to the remotest 
and most inaccessible fastnesses of the 
neighboring sierras, when, in the still 
hours after midnight, they emerged upon 
an open space among rocky heights and 
halted within call of several tents that 
gleamed white and ghostly in the star- 
light. After challenges, answers, whis- 
pered consultations, involving fully a 
quarter of an hour’s delay, he was 
ordered to leap from his horse and 


178- 


The Bandoleros 


179 


follow several men, who left the tents 
to their left and approached a wall of 
rock some two hundred yards distant. 

As he had expected, these conducted 
him into a cavern, set a guard at the 
opening, and, unbinding his arms, left 
him to himself, after placing food on a 
small rude table, which, together with a 
camp-chair and a bed of dark blankets 
spread upon rush mats, formed the fur- 
niture of the place. The cavern was 
small and was suffused throughout with 
a dim, curious light, the nature of which 
was not immediately apparent, and with 
reference to which the prisoner was too 
weary to care to inform himself. It was 
sufficient to know that he was cut off from 
all escape (he took that for granted), and 
having eaten, he threw his weary body on 
the bed and fell into heavy slumber. 

When he awoke it was morning and his 
watch indicated the hour of nine. The 
entrance of a man bringing his coffee had 
aroused him. Light penetrated through 


i8o 


Carita 


the opening as far as the remotest corners 
of the cave, and he now observed that its 
dimensions were not more than fifty by 
about thirty feet, the depth from floor to 
roof varying from fifteen to twenty-five 
feet. It was nothing more than a depres- 
sion or hollow in the side of the wall of 
rock, with a tunnel-like entrance some 
twenty feet in length. He observed also 
that the light of the previous night had 
been furnished by large numbers of co- 
cuyos, these immense fire-flies being con- 
fined in little wicker cages which hung in 
festoons along the walls. 

Arthur would have conjectured that he 
was in Zorilla’s hands even if he had not 
heard that name whispered several times 
after his arrival on the night before. His 
first act after drinking his coffee, therefore, 
was to approach the sentinels at the en- 
trance of the cave and ask for an interview 
with the chief. The prompt answer to 
this request, and when made again several 
times later, was monotonously the same : — 


The Bandoleros 


i8i 


“ Usted no puede ver el capitan/' 

Demanding vehemently to know where- 
fore he was not allowed to see the chief, 
he was answered only by a shrug. Walk- 
ing as far out into the tunnel-like entrance 
as the position of the sentinels would per- 
mit, Arthur attempted in vain to obtain a 
view of the camp. The tunnel ended 
within a few feet of a jutting perpendicular 
mass of rock that cut off even the view of 
the sky. The rays of the sun, as the day 
advanced, fell upon this with a blinding 
glare, radiating strong reflected light back 
into the cave. 

There were two sentinels, one on 
either side of the passage, armed with 
Minie rifles. They sat on low ledges of 
rock facing each other, and when the pris- 
oner was not near spoke occasionally to 
each other in low tones. One was a mu- 
latto, the other a negro, and both were 
men of the most forbidding aspect, sug- 
gesting fierce watch-dogs rather than sen- 
tinels. One of the latter*s cheeks was 


i 82 


Carita 


seamed by an old sword cut of a dirty livid 
hue, startlingly in contrast with the rest of 
his face. The mulatto had lost an eye as 
well as three fingers of his right hand, and 
his expression was one of unusual ferocity. 

‘‘ A fine country this ! — where an 
honest man can be dragged from his home 
and penned up in a hole by such dogs as 
these ! muttered the prisoner, in furious 
scorn and disgust. 

Judging from these, Zorilla's men must 
truly be an ill-favored and beastly lot, in 
spirit if not in name nothing but com- 
mon brigands composed of the worst ele- 
ments of society. What hope was there for 
a free Cuba as long as the atrocities of runa- 
way slaves and escaped criminals should 
pass under the name of legitimate revolt ? 
If the true patriots of Cuba suffered it, 
they were responsible for the hopelessness 
of their cause. As did his father before 
him, Arthur felt a warm sympathy for the 
insurgents of ’68-76 in their struggle 
against oppression ; but it may not be 


The Bandoleros 


wondered at that he should now begin to 
doubt whether struggling Cuba deserved 
to be free, and, if once free, whether there 
were manliness and bravery and wisdom 
enough among her sons to maintain for 
her a place among the nations of the earth. 
Spain had, indeed, failed to keep her 
promises of concessions, the land groaned 
under the iniquitous exactions of the tax- 
gatherer and the unjust distinctions recog- 
nized by the government between the resi- 
dent Spaniard and the native Cuban ; but 
the hearts of honest patriots had failed, 
they had succumbed to the inevitable, and 
their cause was trampled in the dust, being 
now merely a cloak for bandoleros pure 
and simple whom justice should sweep 
from the face of the earth. So reasoned 
Arthur in his helplessness and anger, and 
so reasoned many others with less interest 
at stake. And yet Zorilla really believed 
that he was serving the cause of his coun- 
try, and was only too careless of the means 
in his zeal for the end. 


184 


Carita 


The day wore away drearily, the prisoner 
waiting to know his fate in a fever of im- 
patience and anxiety that was difficult to 
endure. Philosophy, the unfailing refuge 
of the unfortunate, serves little during the 
period of suspense. Every inquiry ad- 
dressed to his jailers was alike in result. 
He could not see Zorilla, and they would 
carry no messages for him ; he was to re- 
main where he was, awaiting the pleasure 
of the chief, and if he attempted violence 
he might know what to expect. As he 
paced frantically back and forth, like a 
chafing lion, his guard watched him with 
evident pleasure, leering and whispering. 
To the eyes of the infuriated young man, 
the negro’s appearance took on the sug- 
gestion of a grinning hyena, the mulatto’s 
of a skulking wolf ; he would have been 
glad to spring upon them and strangle 
them, but checked himself, knowing that 
any attempt at violence would be madness. 

When his dinner was brought by the 
same harmless montero whose entrance 


The Bandoleros 


185 


had awakened him that morning, and who 
probably served as a cook in the camp, 
Arthur began to ask him questions in a 
low voice. Where was Zorilla ? What 
was the meaning of this suspense ? Was 
he to be murdered or held for ransom ? 

I am told to say nothing, Sehor,” was 
the only answer. 

“You can at least tell me,” Arthur pro- 
ceeded, after an effort to control his anger, 
“ whether the man I shot down when I 
was taken is still alive ? ” 

“ He is dead, Sehor.” 

The prisoner was afterward conscious 
that he enjoyed a moment of savage satis- 
faction and delight at the thought that he 
had weakened his enemies to the extent of 
at least one man. 

“ Did they leave him lying on the road ? ” 
he asked. 

“No, Sehor; he was carried to El 
Monte and died there this morning, I am 
told.” 

The montero now hastily retired. Soon 


i86 


Carita 


afterward darkness filled the cave, and 
soft light was radiated from the festooned 
cages of cocuyos, which served as so many 
Chinese lanterns. 

Wearied by the violence of his emo- 
tions and the oppression of a thousand 
anxieties, Arthur early sought his couch, 
where the sleep of exhaustion shortly over- 
took him. 

The second day was a repetition of the 
first. The grinning hyena and the leering 
wolf were the prisoner’s only company, 
and the monotony of the day was broken 
only by the coming of the montero with 
coffee in the early morning and a basket 
of food and wine at noon and at sunset. 
The daylight crept up and broadened on 
the rocky wall outside the tunnel until the 
glare of midday was reflected in the far- 
thest corners of the cave, then slowly 
waned, faded into shadow, and night 
had come again. 

At nine o’clock Arthur Glynn lay toss- 
ing on his couch, unable to sleep. Sud- 


The Bandoleros 187 

denly starting up in a frenzy, he rushed 
upon the sentinels, who, as they observed 
his rapid movements, promptly covered 
him with their rifles. 

“ Once more I demand to see Zorilla,” 
he thundered. 

Usted no puede,*’ said the wolf, with a 
chuckle. 

No es permiso,” said the hyena, with a 
grin. 

“ I am here, Sehor Glynn,” came the 
voice of Zorilla from the mouth of the 
tunnel. 

The two guards bounded to their feet 
and saluted their chief, who was indeed at 
hand. As Zorilla advanced into the light, 
Arthur saw with pain and rage that he 
was none other than the night visitor to 
Buena Esperanza whose face he had seen in 
the entrance of the Eagle Inn at San Jose. 

“ Are you Sehor Zorilla, the bandit 
chief? ” asked the young man, icily. 

“ I am Zorilla, the patriot chief,” was 
the answer, with a stately bow. 


i88 


Carita 


‘‘ We will not discuss patriotism, if you 
please ; our opinions, no doubt, differ,’" 
was the rejoinder. “ But I should like to 
ask what are your intentions in regard to 
your prisoner ? ” 

‘‘To set you at liberty.” 

Arthur Glynn looked in silence at the 
maker of this incredible announcement, 
as if wondering if the further indignity of 
a jest were now hurled at him. He had 
been kidnapped in order to be set at 
liberty ! 

“ I have been misled, Sehor, and have 
now come to offer you your freedom and 
my apologies,” said Antonio Zorilla, with 
a grave dignity and a certain nobility of 
manner that still further astonished the 
prisoner. “Just now you called me a 
bandit, but having offered you your lib- 
erty without robbing you, I may venture 
to assure you that 1 am no bandolero of 
the common type. I rob only the rich 
and only those rich who are the enemies 
of Cuba’s cause. With regard to you, I 


The Bandoleros 


189 


was led to believe that you were the friend 
of Spain and gave money to establish her 
dominion ; furthermore, that you were 
immensely rich and were about to pur- 
chase a title of nobility.” 

“ How could you have heard these in- 
credible things?” gasped Arthur, in doubt. 

“ I admit that I too readily accepted 
them as facts,” said Zorilla, in a tone of 
unquestionable sincerity and regret. “ I 
heard all this in an inn at San Jose, and, 
little dreaming that it was idle gossip, I 
caused you to be abducted and the price 
of your ransom to be published. But I 
am now reliably informed that what was 
said of you is untrue in every particular. 
It only remains, therefore, Sehor,” Zorilla 
concluded, with the utmost courtesy of 
manner, “ for me to undo the evil and beg 
you to accept my apologies.” 

“ And I in return,” said Arthur, heart- 
ily, his anger gone and his respect won, 
“ can only express my perfect willingness 
to forgive the evil, since you voluntarily 


190 


Carita 


make the only amends in your power. 
Let me add that, to speak candidly, I can- 
not approve of the position you hold 
years after the insurrection has been for- 
mally suppressed, but I am compelled to 
recognize in you the true instincts of a 
gentleman.’* 

“ Gracias,” murmured Zorilla, with the 
bow of a hidalgo. ‘‘And now, Sehor, you 
are at liberty to go at once. One of my 
best horses awaits you to replace your 
own, which was shot.” 

“Ah, that reminds me that I had the 
misfortune to kill one of your men,” said 
Arthur, showing in voice and manner the 
regret that he felt without blaming him- 
self for a just act. 

“ I have none to spare,” said Zorilla, 
gravely, “ but the loss of a man here and 
there is a part of the game. It is the 
fortune of war. You were right to kill 
him and as many more as you could.” 

“ You truly make amends, Sehor,” said 
Arthur, moved by this generous speech. 


The Bandoleros 


191 


‘‘Your horse is ready/' the chief con- 
tinued. “A guard will conduct you as far 
as El Monte, whence you can proceed to- 
morrow without molestation. Your little 
brother is here and will go with you." 

“ My brother ? — Philip ^ " 

“ Yes, brave little Felipe," was the an- 
swer, and as he spoke a smile smoothed 
out the stern lines in Zorilla's face. He 
then quietly told the story of the boy's 
arrival but an hour since, not omitting to 
mention the cockpit incident of the pre- 
vious spring. 

“ Dear, brave boy," murmured Arthur, 
his eyes glistening. “ Then it was from 
him you learned that my vast riches, etc., 
were myths ? " 

“No, I learned it independently. But 
even if I had remained in ignorance, I do 
not think I could have resisted the appeal 
of that little soldier." 

Zorilla now blew a whistle and almost 
immediately a white man appeared, a sword 
at his side and a rifle in his hand. “ Con- 


ig2 


Carita 


duct the Sehor to his horse,” was the brief 
order. 

Arthur put out his hand and the other 
grasped it warmly, saying : — 

A Dios, Sehor. If you live to see the 
flame that will sweep over Cuba and drive 
her oppressors from their last foothold, 
remember that it was Zorilla’s aim to 
keep alive the spark from which that 
flame will spread.” 

The soldier who had been summoned 
brought a lantern, and in the stronger 
light of this Arthur took note of a folded 
letter which the chief held in his left hand. 
The words “ imploro ” and libertar ” 
caught his eye ; but it was not the sug- 
gestiveness of these, it was the handwrit- 
ing itself that fixed his attention. His 
heart sank within him as he recognized 
the same delicate chirography once seen 
on the sheet of paper in the latticed bower 
at Buena Esperanza. 

“ She bids me keep away and writes to 
was his maddening thought. 


XIII 


From Scylla to Charybdis 

O UT of the gloom of the cave and the 
nightmare of the past forty-eight 
hours, Arthur emerged into the clear star- 
light and mounted the waiting horse. 
Freedom was before him, but his heart 
was like lead. What was freedom, if she 
loved Zorilla ? The soldier with the 
lantern took the bridle and led the horse 
some two hundred yards beyond the spot 
where the tents were pitched. Here the 
half-absent rider perceived a group of four 
horsemen awaiting him. The smallest of 
these rode forward, and the glad voice of 
little Phil was heard asking : — 

“Is that you, Arthur ? I knew Captain 
Zorilla would let you go.” 

For a moment the two brothers’ hands 


»93 


194 


Carita 


were clasped, then the order to move for- 
ward was given, and the little party set 
out. 

Shortly after midnight the five horse- 
men reached the village of El Monte. 
Three of them then turned back, while 
the other two dismounted and entered 
the little casa de posada. 

Look here ! ” cried little Phil, who 
had emptied the silken purse on the table 
as soon as he was alone with his brother 
in the apartment allotted to them. “ There 
are eight doubloons here now. Zorilla 
put in four more. I thought it felt heavier 
when he gave it back to me.'* 

And yet I have heard that he is in 
desperate need of money," said Arthur. 
‘‘ How absolutely Spanish ! " 

Isn't he good ? " cried the boy, enthu- 
siastically. “ I don't care if he is a bandit, 
he's good ! " 

‘‘There is honor even among — ban- 
dits." 

“ It was lucky I had this purse and 


From Scylla to Charybdis 195 

kept it, wasn’t it ? ” said the boy, proudly 
holding the precious object up before his 
shining eyes. If I hadn’t, you might 
still be in Zorilla’s cave.” 

‘‘Yes, Felipe mio,” said Arthur, affec- 
tionately, and sighed. “ More powerful 
influences than your purse, brave boy, 
were concerned in my liberation,” thought 
he. 

“ Willis thought I was crazy,” contin- 
ued happy little Phil ; “ but as soon as 
Pablo heard about the purse, he agreed for 
me to come with him. Oh, I have not 
told you about Pablo, have I ? I met 
him on the road and we went to Zorilla’s 
camp together. He must know a friend 
of the captain’s. I saw him give him two 
letters. Pablo said he wasn’t ready to start 
back with us last night,” the boy added. 

“ I conjectured as much,” mused Arthur, 
bitterly. 

The brothers left El Monte at an early 
hour next morning and reached the Des- 
tierros at midday. When within a mile of 


196 


Carita 


their home, riding on the San Jose high- 
way, they encountered two mounted repre- 
sentatives of the guardia civil, odd-looking 
little fellows dressed in a uniform of striped 
blue linen trimmed with scarlet, and carry- 
ing arms. As they drew near, they looked 
narrowly at the two brothers, and spoke 
rapidly to each other. 

‘‘ If I mistake not, it is the Sehor 
Arturo Glynn ? ” said one of them majes- 
tically, as all drew rein. 

It is.” 

But it was said that you were carried 
off by Zorilla and held — ” 

“It is true, but here I am at liberty, 
as you see.” 

“ Ah, then the ransom was paid,” 
muttered the second member of the local 
police. 

The first speaker then proceeded to 
ask many questions, to which Arthur re- 
plied in the briefest manner possible. 
The main object in view was evidently 
to gain accurate knowledge of the situa- 


From Scylla to Charybdis 197 


tion and defences of Zorilla’s camp, but 
the officer was greatly disappointed. 
Arthur reported that he had been con- 
fined two days in a cave, that he had been 
carried there and brought away in the 
night, and that he had seen nothing of 
Zorilla's forces except a few sentinels. 
As to the situation of the stronghold, he 
could only say that it was in the moun- 
tains at a distance of more than twenty- 
five miles and less than fifty. 

^‘We may call on you for further in- 
formation,” concluded the inquisitor, evi- 
dently suspecting that much had been 
withheld. 

‘‘You already have all that I can give,” 
was the prompt answer. “If Zorilla is to 
be taken,” mused Arthur, as he rode on, 
•‘ it will never be done by such fellows as 
these.” 

A few minutes later, the two brothers 
galloped up the avenue of palms at the 
Destierros, and were met on the veranda 
by the whole of a joyful family. While 


198 


Carita 


the rescued son was held in the arms of 
his now tearful mother, little Phil turned 
scornfully to the grinning Willis : — 

‘‘ Oh, yes ! You thought I didn’t have 
any sense, didn’t you ? I told you I was 
going to find Arthur, and I did it, too ! 
My brains were addled, weren’t they ! ” 
The good-natured Willis responded 
with his loudest gufifaw, exclaiming : 

Dat boy is a sight in dis world. He 
sho’ is ! ” 

His mother questioned him closely 
when they were alone, and Arthur kept 
nothing from her except the fact that he 
had recognized the handwriting of Carita 
Ramirez. She, however, had already 
learned from little Phil that Pablo carried 
two letters to Zorilla’s camp, and she was 
forthwith convinced that one of them was 
written by the “fair recluse.” It was a 
simple matter of course. 

“You see, Arthur, that she has power 
over him. She was no doubt the person 
the Padre appealed to.” 


From Scylla to Chary bdis 199 


“No man could see her without feeling 
her influence,” he answered, stubbornly. 

“ Ah, yes, every beautiful woman has 
such a power. But I mean in a more 
particular way. Perhaps she is really his 
wife — or — it may not be so innocent. 
Else why is she not with him ? Why 
this strange seclusion ? ” 

“ Be kind enough never to speak to me 
on this subject again,” said Arthur, rising 
to leave the room, such a horror of indig- 
nation, of smothered wrath, and of anguish 
expressed in his face that his mother was 
terrified and half rose in her chair, exclaim- 
ing:— 

“ Oh, my son, it was for your good 
only that I said it.” 

But he did not look round, and avoided 
her during all that day. 

Time went on, with meanwhile no eflfort 
on Arthur's part to communicate with the 
mysterious lady of Buena Esperanza, who 
had hedged herself around with barriers 
such as honor forbade him to seek longer 


200 


Carita 


to overpass. Fits of apathy and earnestly 
courted indifference were succeeded by 
periods of maddening love and burning 
jealousy ; but Arthur did not hate Zorilla 
and wished him no ill. A maddening 
envy may best describe the worst feeling 
that sometimes seized him, and which was 
replaced in calmer moments with the re- 
spect and good will that had been awakened 
in him by the behavior of his supposed 
rival. 

And so when the captain of the partido 
summoned him and had his statement 
taken down in writing, he carefully avoided 
imparting, so far as was possible, any in- 
formation likely to aid in dislodging the 
patriot-bandit from his retreat. Without 
approving of Zorilla's continued resistance 
or methods, Arthur felt more respect for 
him than for the corrupt and venal gov- 
ernment officials whose ceaseless fines and 
fees and unjust exactions, joined to the 
outrageous system of devouring taxes, 
were squeezing the life out of a helpless 


From Scylla to Charybdis 201 


people. It may be added, par parenthese, 
that the Destierros escaped from much of 
this, owing to the fact that Roger Glynn, 
inconsistent though it was, had never re- 
linquished the rights of an American citi- 
zen, and on more than one occasion had 
appealed for protection to the consul rep- 
resenting the country from which he had 
expatriated himself. 

It may also be added that the result of 
the formal inquiry made by el capitan did 
not transpire so far as anybody knew, al- 
though such information as was obtained 
he no doubt forwarded to headquarters. 
At any rate, no troops were sent against 
Zorilla for a long time to come, and when 
his mountain retreat was finally invaded, 
the bird had flown. Subsequent attempts 
were equally fruitless, and the determined 
chief managed to continue his game of 
hide-and-seek from year to year until he 
was enabled to merge his handful of fol- 
lowers into the forces of the Cuban com- 
mander, Maximo Gomez, who raised the 


202 


Carita 


standard of revolt in the year 1895 — 
with a result as yet in doubt. 

Arthur Glynn would not allow himself 
to hate Zorilla, but gave a certain vent to 
his feelings by opening a fresh quarrel with 
Sebastiano Rios. Careful inquiry through 
acquaintances in San Jose relative to the 
false reports leading to Arthur’s abduc- 
tion, resulted at last in their being traced 
to this young man of fertile imagination. 
And so one day when the two came face 
to face in the Posada Aguila, Arthur spoke 
his mind, warning Rios that if he wished 
to preserve a whole skin he had better be 
circumspect in future and circulate no 
more lying reports. Let them come to 
conflict again, and a mere grip on his 
slanderer’s collar would be far from suffi- 
cient to satisfy the vengeance of Don 
Arturo Glynn ; another time the offender, 
instead of being pitched headlong over 
the stone floor of an empty church, would 
bleed from wounds inflicted by a horse- 
whip in public! 


From Scylla to Charybdis 203 


Arthur had chosen the time and place 
no more carefully than he had selected 
his words. Indeed, the threat was uttered 
in the presence of several listeners, and 
Sebastiano Rios went wild with rage and 
shame. For a moment he glared impo- 
tently, his shapely brown face the sickly 
color of lead. Then, as his enemy turned 
scornfully away, he suddenly drew a knife, 
leaped toward him unawares, and struck 
the blade deep into his side. 

Arthur turned half round, his face be- 
coming deadly white, his right hand mov- 
ing toward the wound. He tried to leap 
toward his retreating assailant, but fell 
groaning on a table and thence to the 
floor. Everybody in the room rushed to 
the spot. The assassin was seized and 
taken to jail, and the wounded man, at his 
urgent request, was carried promptly to 
his home. 

The wound was of a very serious nature. 
For more than a month Arthur’s robust 
system fought desperately and doubtfully 


204 


Carita 


for life, but was finally victorious. While 
the issue was still in doubt, it became 
known that Rios, who was out of prison 
on bail, had fled the district. Fearing the 
risks of a possible trial for murder, he had 
left his bondsmen in the lurch, with the 
consent, it was intimated, of his father, 
who promptly settled all claims. 

During the most doubtful period of 
Arthur's struggle for life, when his body 
was racked with inflammatory fever and his 
mind distorted with delirium, he called on 
the one name, Carita, so incessantly that 
his physician urgently recommended the 
bringing of this person to his bedside. 
Mrs. Glynn at first rebelled, then hesi- 
tated, and finally, as the symptoms became 
more alarming, yielded. 

And so Carita was approached through 
Padre Serrano, and one morning she ap- 
peared at the Destierros in the company 
of the Sehora Duran. A servant met and 
conducted them to the salon. There the 
doctor waited upon them and shortly after- 


From Scylla to Charybdis 205 


ward led Carita to Arthur’s bedside. The 
ladies of the house had not appeared to 
welcome the visitors, and no one but a 
woman servant was now found in the 
wounded man’s room. Though preoccu- 
pied with a great pain, Carita Ramirez did 
not fail to note all this and comprehend 
its cause. 

But she did not hesitate. She sat 
down at Arthur’s bedside and gazed at 
his bloodless face with visible emotion. 
Her own face was pale and worn, but her 
manner bespoke a certain chastened se- 
renity. His eyes rested upon her without 
a sign of recognition, but after he had 
called faintly, “ Carita ! Carita ! ” and she 
had put her cool hand in his burning 
palm and held it there, a peaceful, healing 
calm seemed gradually to steal over his 
fevered body and flow in like cooling 
water upon his heated, striving brain. 
In a few minutes he lay quite still and ere- 
long he fell asleep. 

“There is more hope for him now,” 


2o6 


Carita 


whispered the doctor, who had observed 
all these signs. 

Carita rose. “ I will go now,” she said, 
and, after one more lingering glance at the 
face on the pillow, she went out. 

The moment she had gone Mrs. Glynn 
entered from an inner room, looked at her 
sleeping son, and comprehended that an 
influence more powerful than her own 
had blessed him with its healing touch. 
Then she stole out hurriedly on the 
visitor’s track, a mother’s jealousy burn- 
ing in her heart. She overtook Carita 
before the latter had joined the Sehora in 
the salon. 

“It was discourteous not to have met 
you,” she said, without preliminary, “ but 
I am a mother and you have bewitched 
my son. I must be frank : I thought no 
good of you and I objected to your com- 
ing. But now that I see what you have 
done for him, I must thank you.” 

The two women stood still and looked 
intently at each other, the elder making 


From Scylla to Chary bdis 207 


no effort to conceal her jealous dislike, 
the younger with the serenity of a noble 
nature that is falsely accused. 

“You are beautiful,” murmured the 
mother, “ and your face seems kind. 
Have pity on him, and on me.” 

“ Some day you will repent,” said 
Carita Ramirez, without haughtiness or 
anger or visible resentment, but with a 
slow distinctness that fell upon her ac- 
cuser with the force of a blow. 

Having said this, she turned quickly 
away, walked on, joined the waiting 
Sehora, and the two went out hurriedly 
together. 

Miss Mabel Ray watched them nar- 
rowly from an upper window, as they 
were assisted into their volante and drove 
away. Then she went and surveyed her 
own face critically in the mirror. 

“Yes, she is prettier than I, far pret- 
tier,” was the mental observation of this 
candid person. “ I don't wonder at the 


men. 


XIV 


Death at Buena Esperanza 
HE arrival of the cane-grinding 



JL season found Arthur sufficiently 
restored to give directions, but several 
weeks passed before he was allowed to 
take up the work with the energy and 
absorbed attention it required. Barring 
the delicate women, an almost ceaseless 
activity was the rule for everybody at 
the Destierros from December to April. 
Every duty, from the planting of the cane 
to the shipping of the sugar, was in prog- 
ress at one time. Day after day a small 
army of laborers toiled on, ploughing, hoe- 
ing, cutting cane, loading wagons, driving 
teams, grinding, spreading the crushed 
stalks out to dry for fuel, boiling, skim- 
ming, and crystallizing the juice, filling 


Death at Buena Esperanza 209 


hogsheads and driving to the shipping 
point with load after load of sugar and 
molasses. The furnace fires burned and 
the cylinders of the mill revolved night 
and day, and not even the young master, 
when once he was well and strong again, 
indulged himself in more than six hours 
of repose out of the twenty-four. 

As the grinding season drew toward its 
close and the crop was practically disposed 
of, Arthur had leisure to look into their 
accounts and discuss their finances with 
his mother. The investigation was not 
encouraging. They owned their plant, 
but had little working capital, and felt 
unable to purchase certain improved and 
labor-saving machinery now required in 
order to keep pace with wealthier planters. 
Aside from this, the markets of the world 
were being glutted through the over- 
production of beet sugar in Europe and 
prices were fast becoming ruinous. It 
was doubtful, indeed, if the crop just har- 
vested would leave a living margin above 


210 


Carita 


expenses. Many and serious, therefore, 
were the consultations between mother 
and son. 

“We are playing a losing game, and 
may as well look the fact squarely in the 
face,” said Arthur one day in the spring. 
“ We had better sell out if we can.” 

“ And return to America ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“No more sugar-making in the States 
for me. Plantation life there is dead — 
from all I hear.” 

“ But uncle proposed to take me into 
business with him, you remember.” 

“Ah, if we could live comfortably in 
New York, that would be another thing.” 
The widow sighed and continued : “ I 
was once well content to remain in Cuba, 
but since Roger’s death and all that hap- 
pened to you last fall, I have been willing 
enough to go. It would be a relief,” she 
added with a faint smile, “to have no 
longer to pay a tax of a hundred per cent 
on every barrel of American flour we eat.” 


Death at Buena Esperanza 21 1 


She did not add that it would be a much 
greater relief to see her son no longer 
moody and unhappy. To leave Cuba, 
she thought, would be the surest means 
of dissipating the cloud that now dimmed 
the brightness of his youth. He was 
ignorant that Carita Ramirez had visited 
him during his delirium, and since his 
recovery he had made no effort to see 
her, but his mother well knew that, al- 
though he may have ceased to hope, he 
was far from forgetting. The cloud was 
not lifted. 

‘Hf we go, we leave Mabel behind,’* 
Mrs. Glynn went on to say. 

« Ah ? ” 

“ She told me this morning that she 
had at last accepted Don Alfredo.” 

“ When they have marree, I hope she 
will teach him the Engleesh.” 

Don’t laugh at him,” said Mrs. Glynn 
reprovingly, though she smiled. “ He 
makes a brave effort to speak her lan- 
guage. He seems to me a good man. 


212 


Carita 


and he is quite a gentleman in the Cuban 
sense. But of course I regret the match.” 

‘‘ I meant no harm,” said Arthur, lightly. 
“ I like him, and if she is satisfied, I am. 
Willis is the only one likely to regret it 
seriously. He will consider it a ‘ come 
down ' for anybody from Maryland.” 

‘‘ She /s satisfied,” pursued Mrs. Glynn. 
“She likes him — loves him, in her way 
— and it will suit her. She has become 
habituated to Cuban life. Don Alfredo is 
rich and his wife will live in semi-mediaeval 
splendor, so far as concerns an army of 
servants, and all that. The possibility of 
intellectual expansion will be wanting, but 
Mabel will be contented. She would re- 
gard a marriage with a young American of 
moderate fortune hopelessly tame in com- 
parison.” 

“ When is it to be ? ” 

“ That is as yet unsettled. We are all 
invited to dine there to-morrow in celebra- 
tion of the event.” 

And they all went accordingly. The 


Death at Buena Esperanza 213 


Limoneros (lemon trees), where Don 
Alfredo lived with his mother and sisters, 
was one of the largest estates of the neigh- 
borhood. Beside the vast acreage devoted 
to the cijlture of sugar-cane, it boasted an 
extensive tobacco farm and a cafetal. The 
latter involved a fruit farm also, for the 
coffee is a delicate plant, requiring shade 
as well as sunshine. The hundred acres 
at the Limoneros called the cafetal, there- 
fore, was one vast garden of a beauty 
and variety such as can be seen only in 
the tropics. The ground was planted in 
regular squares of about one acre, and 
these were intersected by broad pathways 
lined with palms, mangoes, and a great 
variety of fruit trees. The flowering 
pomegranate, multitudes of roses, the 
yellow jasmine, the scarlet penon, and 
many wild flowers contributed brilliant 
color to the scene as well as fragrance to 
the atmosphere. Adding in no small 
degree to all this beauty, were the coffee 
plants themselves, their milk-white bios- 


214 


Carita 


soms mingling so thickly with the light 
green of the leaves as to suggest a cloud 
of fallen snow. 

The big, rambling, old residencia of 
yellow, porous stone slumbered among 
towering ceibas and palms in a pleasing 
atmosphere of repose, with the usual palm- 
bordered avenue leading thereto from the 
public highway. Up this avenue now rode 
fair ladies in flowing robes of every bright 
color, and stately Caballeros in spotless 
linen, Panama hats, and gleaming silver 
spurs ; for the friends from the Destierros 
were not the only invited guests. 

The diners numbered some thirty, in 
fact, and to these a bountiful meal was 
served on the open veranda in the late 
afternoon. The Sehora Rodriguez, a lady 
whose age and wrinkles and brown skin 
were not disguised by a liberal application 
of cascarilla, sat at the head of the table, 
Mrs. Glynn on her right, Arthur and the 
Senorita Isabel on her left. Don Alfredo 
and Miss Ray sat farther down among the 


Death at Buena Esperanza 215 


other guests, and were as gay as the gayest. 
The conversation was altogether in the 
Spanish tongue, except when, after warming 
over the wine, Don Alfredo treated his 
English-speaking friends to one or two ex- 
cruciating quotations from Shake-a-spear 
and Tenneesown. The hostess spoke 
gravely, and in soft, gurgling accents, with 
the Sehora “ Gleen ’’ about the coming 
marriage, household affairs, et cetera. 
The Dona Isabel prattled joyously about 
nothing in particular, and Arthur listened 
and answered absently, while trying to 
do his duty. The various other guests 
laughed and jested with a great flow of 
spirits and no little native wit. Exclama- 
tions, shrugs, ripples of laughter, were as 
continuous as the sounds of knives and 
forks. 

Although quite half a score of negro 
servants waited on the guests, the whole 
dinner had been placed on the board before 
the company was seated, the conglomer- 
ation of odors, in which the preponder- 


2i6 


Carita 


ance distinctly belonged to garlic, being 
scarcely agreeable. Quantity was preferred 
to select quality. The dishes were with- 
out number : a whole roast pig decorated 
with ribbons, fowls garnished with olives 
and prunes, omelets streaked with raw 
blood, sausages served with garlic, heaping 
piles of rice colored red by a vegetable 
juice, other meats served in a sauce of wine 
and sugar, bananas fried like potatoes, 
and stewed in wine and syrup like pre- 
serves, M/i Colorado^ and other salads swim- 
ming in olive oil, many kinds of bread, a 
dozen different vegetables, more than a 
dozen different fruits, almost as many des- 
serts, aguardiente and a great variety of 
Spanish wines, besides cigars and cigarettes 
in amazing quantities. 

While still they lingered over the table, 
the crimson sunset faded, the purple skies 
darkened, and daylight was followed by 
starlight with a suddenness almost sugges- 
tive of magic ; but at once the little wicker 
cages hanging in festoons overhead dif- 


Death at Buena Esperanza 217 


fused the soft light emitted by the im- 
prisoned cocuyos, and the scene was more 
attractive than before. Adjournment to 
the great drawing-room which had been 
prepared for dancing was soon proposed, 
and the gayety of the table was continued 
in a higher key. 

Miss Mabel Ray, with her fair face, 
flaxen hair, and silken gown of a delicate 
shade of blue, was indeed the vision of a 
daughter of another clime against the 
background of that rural Cuban ball-room 
where olive-faced, raven-haired sehoritas 
swam back and forth (walk is not the word 
to describe their graceful locomotion) in 
the most gorgeous apparel. A French 
modiste would have been driven to des- 
peration at sight of the combinations of 
the deepest shades of red, yellow, blue, 
green, all and more than all the colors 
of the rainbow. And yet, such was the 
inborn charm of the plainest of these 
ladies, so indescribably graceful were the 
movements of their lithe and supple 


2i8 


Carita 


limbs, so mellifluous their voices, so 
beautiful and expressive their midnight 
eyes, and such was their spontaneous 
vivacity of manner, that the whole effect 
was of a poem in color and motion, a 
poem of startling semi-barbaric rhythm 
it is true, but without a discord. 

Passionately fond of the sport, the 
gayly clad sehoritas, whose small shapely 
feet seemed made especially for dancing, 
never wearied as they were whirled around 
and round or swam back and forth to the 
strains of light and sparkling Cuban airs. 
More striking, if possible, than the cos- 
tumes of this occasion were the glittering 
jewelled fans, which, in their bewitching 
eloquence of movement, seemed to almost 
possess a language of their own, — now 
gracefully waving in the satisfaction of 
flattered vanity, now abruptly closing in 
real irritation or mere pretence of pouting, 
now slowly unfolding in forgiveness, now 
raised to screen a blushing, radiant face 
peeping forth archly like the smiling sun 


Death at Buena Esperanza 219 


behind a gorgeous cloud. All this, and 
more, was expressed by the Doha Isabel’s 
beautiful fan, as she danced or walked 
with Arthur Glynn, who was absent and 
silent, repentant and devoted, by turns. 

Throughout the evening there was 
smoking, some caballeros dancing with 
cigars in their mouths, and the wall- 
flowers, elderly sehoras, were constantly 
refreshing themselves with cigarettes or 
coffee as they looked on and gossiped. 

After very many dances, at midnight 
the entertainment was varied by the intro- 
duction of a large paper globe, which was 
suspended from the ceiling within some 
six or seven feet of the floor. Blindfolded 
volunteers of both sexes with walking- 
canes in their hands then approached and 
endeavored to hit it, the spectators watch- 
ing with the greatest interest. Many 
failed completely, their futile efforts excit- 
ing loud merriment; others just grazed 
the globe, and the contest went on until a 
lucky blow brought down the prize amid 


220 


Carita 


applause, a general good-humored scramble 
for the contents, bonbons, trinkets, and 
toys, then following. 

And so this “ revelry by night ” of 
‘‘ fair women and brave men ” went on 
to a very late hour, until even the most 
enthusiastic of the fair dancers began to 
demand of their partners, “ Que hora es 
to which question happy Don Alfredo, 
overhearing, would reply : “ The hour 

for merriment, Sehorita ; not the hour for 
departing.*’ 

Nobody expected to see Miss Mabel 
Ray before high noon, but it was barely 
nine o’clock when Arthur Glynn stood 
with his mother on the veranda at the 
Destierros next morning. A negro came 
up the avenue and spoke to them. 

“ There is death at Buena Esperanza,” 
he reported. 

‘‘Who is it?” asked Mrs. Glynn, 
quickly. 

The negro did not know. A passing 


Death at Buena Esperanza 221 


laborer had just told him that death had 
visited the neighboring estate, but the 
name of the victim was not known. 

‘‘ Bring my horse,'' ordered Arthur un- 
steadily, his face very pale. 

“No — the volante," ordered Mrs. 
Glynn. “ Let me go with you, Arthur," she 
begged, her voice almost as unsteady as his 
had been . “We are among their near neigh- 
bors. I ought to go — don't you think ? " 

He did 'not answer. He sat down on 
the steps and waited, his face buried in 
his hands. A few minutes later they were 
driving in silence and rapidly toward 
Buena Esperanza. 

Padre Serrano opened the door in 
answer to their summons. His face was 
solemn but calm. 

“ Consummatum esty" he said, softly. 
“ The game is played out — the race is run. 
God hath healed that for which man 
knows no healing." 

“Is it — " gasped Arthur Glynn in 
the agony of his suspense. 


222 


Carita 


“ No/’ answered the priest, putting his 
hand affectionately on the young man’s 
arm ; it is one who hath drunk deeper 
of the waters of tribulation than she, 
though hers hath been a bitter cup. It 
is her father. Come, I will show you.” 

He led them into the silent house, up 
the stairs, out upon the veranda above the 
patio, and pointed to an open coffin in the 
centre of the court, wherein lay the last of 
Don Ignacio Ramirez, a leper white as 
snow. 


XV 


The Bright Spot 

T he court and galleries around it 
were filled with an aromatic odor like 
incense, as purple wreaths of smoke rose 
up from four different vessels resting on 
the ground at the four corners of the 
leper's bier. The open coffin rested on 
an improvised stand covered with a blue 
cloth. A naked, glistening Toledo blade 
lay beside it and the flag of the Cuban 
insurrectionists covered the exposed body 
from the breast downward. Except for 
a ghastly whiteness and slight protuber- 
ances, the face was not disfigured. 

The solemn voice of Padre Serrano 
broke softly upon the stillness : — 

‘‘ When a man shall have in the skin of 
his flesh a rising or bright spot, and the 


223 


224 


Canta 


hair thereof be turned white, and it cover- 
eth him from his head even to his foot, he 
is a leper, and the priest shall pronounce 
him unclean, and he shall dwell alone/' 

As the visitors looked and listened, 
dumb with amazement, suddenly Pablo 
and an associate, browner, smaller, and 
more weazened than even himself, ap- 
peared from the gallery below. Carrying 
a coffin lid uplifted before them, so that 
they could not look upon the dead, they 
approached the bier, fitted the cover on 
the coffin, screwed it down, and retired in 
silence, and speedily, though without in- 
decent haste. 

Let us go, too," said Padre Serrano, 
and conducting the visitors to the salon 
on the first floor, he invited them to be 
seated. 

“ This, then, is the explanation of — 
of — " faltered Mrs. Glynn, an uneasy 
look on her face. 

“ This is the mystery of Buena Espe- 
ranza." 


The Bright Spot 


225 


‘^And she — how long — ” muttered 
Arthur Glynn, groping for his words. 
« Tell me all.^^ 

“It has lasted nine years,” said the 
priest, seating himself before the mother 
and son. “ There is no longer cause for 
secrecy and you shall hear all. The sad- 
dest histories may be told in the fewest 
words,” he added, and proceeded to tell 
the story of which the following is a brief 
outline : — 

In the year 1868, when the last Cuban 
insurrection began, Don Ignacio Ramirez 
was the owner of vast estates and one of 
the wealthiest planters in the eastern dis- 
trict of “ the ever-faithful isle.” His sym- 
pathies were with the revolutionists, and 
he not only raised the standard of revolt 
on his estates and contributed large sums 
to the cause, but served in the field until 
his health declined. In 1876, when the 
rebellion was finally crushed, or at least 
formally suppressed, he was thrown into a 
dungeon at San Miguel to await his trial. 


226 


Carita 


Fortunately he had investments in the 
United States, and now, although his 
Cuban property had been confiscated, he 
was not left destitute. By employing 
large sums as bribes, after three months 
of imprisonment he was enabled to escape 
from his dungeon and land in Jamaica, 
accompanied by his daughter and only re- 
maining child. (His wife had died dur- 
ing the rebellion, and his two sons were 
slain in battle.) 

It was while living in Jamaica, in a 
state of dejection and ill health, pining for 
his native land, that the disease that was 
in his blood began to show itself. Its 
ravages were slow. Indeed, for three years 
or more he believed himself afflicted with 
a mere skin disease that would yield to 
proper treatment and sanitary precautions. 
But the day came when he knew himself 
to be hopelessly a leper, and he began to 
consider the question of isolating himself 
in a lazaretto. This step, however, was 
never taken. For his daughter Carita, 


The Bright Spot 


227 


then a girl of sixteen, made a solemn vow 
before the altar that she would not be 
separated from him until the day of his 
death. The two lived three years longer 
in Jamaica, in a secluded retreat, and then 
took the risk of returning to Cuba, where 
the stricken man wished to end his miser- 
able days. An agent had secured for 
them the remote estate of Buena Espe- 
ranza, and there they lived until the end, 
in the midst of seclusion and mystery. 

Their only companion was the Sehora 
Duran, an impoverished relation, and they 
were served only by the faithful Pablo and 
his wife. The Sehora was of one mind 
with Don Ignacio that, according to custom 
and law, he should bury himself within 
the boundaries of a lazaretto in the in- 
terests of his beloved child as well as others 
who might nearly approach him. But 
Carita, gentle and yielding in all things, 
was in this inflexible, and her father was 
further restrained from seeking the pub- 
licity of an application by the price upon 


228 


Carita 


his head. The Sehora Duran, though dis- 
approving and even in some fear of her 
own safety, would not abandon the de- 
voted girl and continued to live at Buena 
Esperanza, in a remote quarter of the 
house, never seeing Don Ignacio face to 
face. Nor did Pablo or the woman ser- 
vant ever voluntarily see or go near him, 
and Carita alone ministered unto him. 

‘‘Fora year past,” concluded Padre Ser- 
rano, “ no human being has looked upon 
his face, not even Carita. He would not 
suffer it. But she often spoke with him 
across the court of an evening, and always 
placed his food and drink before his door. 
He carried a bell when he moved about 
so that every one might avoid him ; and, 
by the aid of a regulated system of signals, 
he communicated all his desires, was 
waited upon and suffered no want, until 
at last God took from him his bitter cup.” 

“And Zorilla?” 

“They were old companions in arms, 
and the rebel came here a number of times 


The Bright Spot 


229 


by night. Don Ignacio at first contributed 
money to aid in keeping the ‘ spark ' 
alive — in the phraseology of Zorilla, — 
but ceased when he learned of the lawless 
acts committed in the name of freedom.” 

“ And the Senorita Ramirez, — what was 
he to her ? ” Mrs. Glynn wished to know 
yet one thing more of Zorilla, and her 
manner was eager as she looked away 
from the blanched and horror-stricken 
face of her son, who had completely for- 
gotten the patriot-bandit in a more intense 
anxiety. 

Nothing,” the Padre answered, with a 
certain haughtiness and a momentary irri- 
tation. “He loved her — who does not? 
— but she would not listen to him. She 
suffered him to come to the house, fearing 
his anger for her fatheris sake, and because 
it was a useful diversion for the poor, iso- 
lated leper to talk with his old friend 
across the court at night. But she gave 
him no hope and he rarely saw her, indeed. 
Besides, she long ago resolved never to 


230 


Carita 


marry, and her father, the Sehora, and I 
have all approved of her vow. You need 
not wonder wherefore.” 

And I — I who thought myself charit- 
able,” exclaimed Mrs. Glynn, brokenly, 
cut to the heart with remorse, “ have at- 
tributed evil to this misguided but pure- 
hearted and devoted child ! How can 
she forgive me ? ” 

‘‘ Ask, rather, that God will forgive 
you.” 

“ Will you not let me see her ? Let 
me offer her my sympathy ; let me do 
something to — to help her, poor girl!” 

Sit down, Sehora. Not to-day. It 
is best to leave her with the Sehora 
Duran as yet. Later she may be will- 
ing to see you.” 

‘‘ She said that some day I would re- 
pent,” muttered Mrs. Glynn, absently, 
her look indicative of keen pain and 
something of awe. ‘‘ God forgive me 
and show me how to make amends.” 

Arthur Glynn sat dumb, mutely ask- 


The Bright Spot 


231 


ing why could not a man die when life 
became as now, a horror unspeakable. 
Where was now the daily hope that had 
never died, in spite of all there was to 
kill it? — the blessed hope that he would 
one day adventure into the unknown and 
beautiful realm of her inner life, that far, 
enchanting El Dorado that swam ever 
before his longing vision. The vacancy 
he now looked upon unmanned him. 
He began to shake like one in mortal 
terror. He could not lose her; it was 
not mere happiness, it was life itself. 

He half started up and subsided into 
his seat; he looked about him stupefied, 
his eyes becoming dull and listless. There 
had fallen upon him a great and blank de- 
spair. Anon he looked vacantly through 
the open window, and, as his glance alighted 
on the quivering foliage of a tree, his 
thoughts fell oddly upon his boyhood 
and a tree like that which he had loved 
to climb. Why could not one remain 
always a happy boy, never to advance 


Carita 


232 

within reach of that suffocating anguish 
which hovered threatening on black wings 
above the milestones of manhood ? A 
great sob arose in his throat ; he sank 
suddenly down and bowed his head on 
his mother’s knee, as if, indeed, he were 
a boy once more ; but unlike those of a 
callow boy, the noiseless sobs that now 
shook his frame were the strivings of a 
spirit sorely tried with the sternest grief 
that humanity knows. 

‘‘ Padre, are you sure it is in the blood ? ” 
the mother whispered, gently pressing her 
hands on her son’s bowed head. 

‘‘ I know only what I have been told,” 
was the low answer. It was what Don 
Ignacio always said, and the chief reason 
why he consented to keep his daughter 
near him. He expected the disease in- 
evitably to show itself in her in any case, 
and therefore yielded to circumstances 
and persuasion, allowing her to take the 
risk of contagion. And she — she has 
long regarded it as certain, though there 


The Bright Spot 


233 


is as yet no sign. Is it any wonder, then, 
that her thoughts are turned toward 
heaven, and she shrinks with horror from 
the thought of distilling the poison in 
the veins of an unborn generation ? Her 
vow is given that her father's leprous 
race shall cease from oflF the earth. And 
who will dare say that she hath not done 
well ? " 


Little Phil and the negro Willis stood 
at the foot of the Destierros avenue of 
palms and watched the funeral cortege 
as it passed on its way to the campo 
santo. 

First, a gilded hearse with curtains of 
pale blue silk, drawn by four black horses, 
and driven by a coachman in a cocked hat 
covered with gold braid, and a scarlet coat 
alive with brass buttons and gilt orna- 
ments. On each side of this gay funeral 
car walked six hired mourners dressed in 
black, with cocked hats and swallow-tail 
coats. Six volantes followed, the first 


234 


Carita 


containing two priests, the others sympa- 
thizing neighbors, all of the male sex. The 
scarlet-clothed hearse-driver, the twelve 
hired mourners in black dress coats, the 
occupants of the volantes, one and all, with 
the sole exception of the grave and thought- 
ful Padre Serrano, were smoking cigars 
with a grim earnestness that would soon 
call for a fresh supply. 

So passed Don Ignacio Ramirez, the 
leper, from the sight of men. 


XVI 


‘‘ Wait for Me 


I T was the seventh day thereafter, — early 
morning at Buena Esperanza, the sweet 
cool morning of spring. The blessed rain 
falls, the loving sun shines, impartial nature 
blooms, for all, the evil as for the good, the 
afflicted as for the happy. Although at 
Buena Esperanza unmolested wild creat- 
ures from the neighboring hills moved 
fearlessly through the tangled sugar-cane 
that grew on perennially, though cultivated 
and harvested now no more, and crept up 
through the giant weeds to within a stone's 
throw of the residencia which slumbered 
on, sunk in dreams of past prosperity and 
unheeding the foot-fall of its approaching 
ruin, the smile of nature's bloom was still , 
there to soften the stern outlines of a 


235 


Carita 


236 

melancholy scene. Even in blackened 
lava fields there are green . knolls that 
escape the destroyer’s consuming breath. 

Around the latticed bower there was 
not merely this undying smile that is given 
gratis without even the asking, but the 
beauty of a well-ordered garden. The 
devastating weeds had not yet dared to 
invade the paths or choke the blossoming 
plants. The flamboyant and the jasmine, 
the oleander and the rose, the delicate white 
and red vinca, still blossomed unchecked. 
And the gentler birds sang joyously in 
the neighboring trees, lingering there as 
if attracted to the spot. 

White as a lily, thinner than of yore, 
but not more sad and not less beautiful, 
was Carita Ramirez, as she sat meditating 
in her bower, her lustrous, star-like eyes 
expressive of the chastened solemnity and 
resignation of the tried and conquering 
saint. Suddenly she started to her feet, 
her white face flaming. Her chin sank 
into the white lace on her bosom, and her 


“Wait for Me” 


237 


burning cheek became a rose in a bank of 
lilies. 

Arthur Glynn stood before her, a sug- 
gestion of physical weakness in his pale 
worn face, but the strength of firm re- 
solve in his eyes. 

“You love me, Carita, even as I 
love you,” he said, gently. “ Is it not 
so ? ” 

She lifted her head and looked at him 
full, unflinching. 

“ After the third time I saw you,” she 
said, “ I threw a piece of love vine in 
the court and called your name. It 
lived — it grew — and I prayed to be for- 
given for my joy, but every moment I 
exulted.” 

Their eyes were joined and burned to- 
gether. His arms went out to take her, 
but she, retreating, raised her hand between 
them. 

“You forget,” was her low anguished 
cry. 

“ No, I do not forget,” he answered 


238 


Carita 


solemnly, standing in his place. ‘‘ I am 
not come to bid you break your vow — 
not in reality. I am here to beg that you 
break it only in the letter, while keeping 
it in the spirit. Be my wife in name only. 
Marry me, Carita, that I may have the 
right to love you and be with you and 
care for you — when — ” 

She interrupted him with a strange, low 
laugh, and there burned in her eyes a 
fiery, inextinguishable joy. It was the 
exultation of the martyr at the stake who 
sees the promised paradise through an 
intervening curtain mercifully withdrawn. 
She came up to him, grasped his hand, 
and bowed her face upon it, with low, 
inarticulate murmurings as of heavenly 
music. And then, when with a lover’s 
imperiousness he had taken her forcibly 
into his arms, she lifted her lips and kissed 
him on the mouth. For a little space 
they forgot altogether the evil thing, and 
felt that they two had become one, while 
the trees and the latticed bower swam 


“Wait for Me” 


239 


round them giddily in a roseate perfumed 
atmosphere. 

The first to awaken, — with an abrupt 
movement, an amazing strength, she broke 
from him and bounded away with the 
speed of a frightened deer. Then, as 
suddenly, she halted, turned round, and 
seeing him coming and calling with wild 
entreaty, she gathered all her forces and 
commanded him to halt as a queen might 
command, — 

“Touch me no more,” she said invin- 
cibly. 

Then, as he fell back panting, she 
stepped again within the shade of the 
bower, waving him back from her. 

“ This is the end,” she said in a great 
calm that made him wonder, he who trem- 
bled from head to foot and thrilled in 
every vein. “ After to-day,” she continued, 
“ we shall see each other no more.” 

“ Oh, no, no, no ! ” 

“ Yes — yes. I cannot take the gift you 
offer me. Arturo, my Arturo,” she said 


240 


Carita 


tenderly, you must be free. You must 
go, leaving me to the will of Heaven. Do 
not fear for me. I shall always be happy 
— happy in the thought that you are mine, 
mine. I shall die loving you, kissing you, 
and when this corrupted mortal tenement 
that I shall suffer in has set me free, I shall 
await your coming in the world where 
eternal love will gift us with eternal joy.** 
They stood silent for a space, their eyes 
exchanging messages of the soufs affec- 
tion, till he, returning to the earth, subsid- 
ing from the height to which her words 
had momentarily uplifted him, tasted anew 
of the bitter, deathly cup of anguish. 

“ What will you do ? ** he asked me- 
chanically. 

All is prepared. In three days I en- 
ter a convent which the remnant of my 
father*s fortune will endow.** 

“ You will let me know the place ? ** 
he asked in a kind of stupefaction, his 
face unmoved. 

‘‘No — no, Arturo.** 


“Wait for Me’’ 


241 


“ Then I shall die.” 

“ No, you will live. We shall live, 
you and I, till it please Heaven to join us 
in the life of death. We shall live to 
learn that earthly happiness is after all 
but a moment’s joy in the life of eternity, 
that here below it is the highest, the best, 
the immortal part of us, that bids us suffer 
in order to be true.” 

He had not yet gone, but was strug- 
gling hard to go at her firm and gentle 
bidding, when Padre Serrano came hur- 
riedly along the path and surprised them. 
They saw with wonder that his wonted 
calm had deserted him. His manner 
showed great agitation. Tears were 
streaming down his face. 

“ What is it, my father ? ” Carita Rami- 
rez asked quickly. 

Arthur Glynn said nothing, but if he 
had spoken his thought, it would have been 
to say : “ They are impervious to fresh 
calamity who are already mad with grief.” 

“ It is not sorrow but the joy of hope 


242 


Carita 


that brings these tears/' said the good 
father, looking upon them with tenderness. 

“ Hope ? — for whom ? ” 

“ For Carita Ramirez and Arthur 
Glynn. It is not certainty, but it is 
hope." 

‘‘ Do not play with us," cried the young 
man, fiercely. 

‘‘ Let the letter speak for itself," said 
the Padre, hastily unfolding a paper which 
they had not observed in his hands. “ I 
found it with Don Ignacio's will. It is 
of such recent date that it could not have 
arrived earlier than the day before his 
death, but as it was opened, I infer that he 
read it, and am glad. It is dated at San- 
tiago and signed ^ Pedro Quintana.' " 

With which introduction, the priest be- 
gan to read aloud a letter addressed to the 
Senor Don Ignacio Ramirez, which may 
be translated thus: — 

“My loved Friend: — Months ago 
you wrote me that you were slowly dying 


‘‘Wait for Me” 


243 


of leprosy. You also informed me that 
you had one daughter still living, sole 
remnant of your ruined family, and that 
for her sake you wished to make an inves- 
tigation. You reminded me that, al- 
though after acquiring a fortune you had 
married into a noble family, you yourself 
were ignorant even of the names of your 
parents, who had abandoned you in your 
infancy. You gave me the name of the 
worthy man who brought you up, and 
the only other clue which you possessed, 
desiring me to set on foot such an inquiry 
as might lead to the discovery of your 
father’s and mother’s families, with the 
sole object of ascertaining whether leprosy 
were to be found in either. You stated 
that your wife’s family was free from such 
a taint, and you wished to know with 
reference to your own and (through you) 
your daughter’s, certain knowledge on this 
point being of the highest importance to 
her. You added that you had long sus- 
pected that one or both of your parents 


244 


Carita 


were lepers, and had little or no hope of 
finding that your own case was accidental 
and not hereditary. 

“ I have thus given the purport of your 
letter to me, bearing in mind the sad fact, 
which you relate, that your memory is 
rapidly failing. In answer, I can only 
state that the investigation you wished 
me to make has been fruitless. I have 
been unable to find any trace of either of 
your parents. But I have ascertained one 
fact which I believe to be of greater im- 
portance. It is this : the evidence is 
strong that the dungeon in which you lan- 
guished three months at San Miguel was 
at that time infected with leprosy. I 
have learned that a prisoner came out of 
it leprous two weeks before you entered 
it, and that another developed leprosy 
there a few months after your escape. 
Both these men are now in the lazaretto 
of Las Perdidas. 

“ You tell me that the first signs of 
your affliction appeared within two months 


“Wait for Me*’ 


245 


after your escape from this infected dun- 
geon. As you have no actual proof that 
the disease is hereditary in your family, 
should we not conclude from what I have 
learned that your own case is accidental ? 
In my opinion there are a hundred chances 
to one that this is so, although there are 
undoubtedly cases of hereditary leprosy 
in the island. Of your daughter I should 
say ; should she love and be beloved, and 
have given herself time after your death 
to secure herself against the possibility 
of contagion, and the man of her choice 
shall have been truthfully informed of 
everything, and yet be willing and de- 
sirous, — then, I should say, let her marry 
with a clear conscience and a hopeful mind, 
leaving the future to the God of mercy. 
Am I not right ? Your mind and heart 
alike will say yes. 

“ Therefore be at peace in this matter, 
dear friend, and may God and our lady 
watch over you and soften your pains 
until you are mercifully healed at last 


Carita 


246 

beyond the grave. A Dios, Ignacio ! 
Reciba todo el cariho y afecto de su amigo 
leal, 

Pedro Quintana.'' 

‘^You see, my children, that I have 
brought you hope," said Padre Serrano, 
having ceased to read and looked up 
smiling, relieved now to have done what 
his heart moved him to do. 

Long had the worthy father debated the 
question, and it was, indeed, with fear and 
trembling that he finally decided to ap- 
proach the lovers with this important 
letter which offered them no certainty, 
but only hope. The events of the en- 
suing years alone were to reveal the wis- 
dom or madness of his course. Well 
was it for the peace of his declining days 
that these brought no regrets. 

They had listened, panting, to the con- 
cluding advice of this kindly friend of 
the dead, this good Pedro Quintana, 
hardly daring to look up from the 


“Wait for Me** 


247 


ground, but now their eyes leaped gladly 
together, and, with a face on fire with joy, 
Arthur made the movement prompted by 
his heart. 

But Carita stepped quickly back and 
lifted her hand between them. 

“ Not yet,** she said, with the radiant 
look, and the voice, and the smile of an 
angel, but of an angel who still loved 
the earth. “ Not yet, Arturo mio. Wait 
for me, my beloved. Give me a year in 
proof against contagion, and then — then 
come to me, if you will, and we will leave 
the rest to God.** 


THE END 



Publications of 


Lamson^ W ilffe <£^ Company 

BOSTON LONDON NEW YORK 


Historical Novels, 

In their Relative Chronological Order. 

King Noanett : a Story of Old Virginia and the Massa- 
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With 12 full-page illustrations by Henry Sandham, 
R.C.A. (1619-20) .... $2.00 

‘‘Vivian of Virginia : Being the Memoirs of our First Re- 
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“ The Forge in the Forest : Being the Narrative of the 
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and how he crossed the Black Abbe ; and of his 
Adventures in a Strange Fellowship.” By Charles 
G. D. Roberts. With 7 full-page illustrations by 
Henry Sandham, R.C.A. (1755) • • 

“A Son of the Old Dominion.” By Mrs. Burton Har- 
rison. (1766) . . . . . ;^i.5o 

“ Mademoiselle de Berny : A Story of Valley Forge.” By 
Pauline Bradford Mackie, with 5 fiill-page photogravures 
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2 


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** A Bad Penny.” By John T. Wheelwright. With lo full- 
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“The Pomp of the Lavilettes.” By Gilbert Parker. 

(1837) ^1-25 

“A Hero in Homespun: A Tale of the Loyal South.” 
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“Don Luis’ Wife: A Romance of the West Indies.” 
From her letters and the manuscripts of the Padre, the 
Doctor Caccavelli, Marc Aurele, Curate of Samana. 
By Lillian Hinman Shuey . . . ^1.50 

“Miss Traumerei : A Weimar Idyl.” By Albert Morris 
Bagby . . . . . . . ^1.50 

“ Zuleka : Being the History of an Adventure in the Life 
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the Recent Disturbances in Dorola.” By Clinton 
Ross . . . . . . .111.50 

“At the Queen’s Mercy: A Tale of Adventure.” By 
Mabel Fuller Bbdgett. With 5 full-page illustrations 
by Henry Sandham, R.C.A. . . . $1.25 

“Wives in Exile.” A Comedy in Romance, by William 

Sharp $1*25 

“ The Gold Fish of Gran Chimu.” By Charles F. Lummis. 
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pieces drawn by Willard Emery and Arthur T. Clark, 
and end-pieces by Miss Gwendoline Sandham 


Publications of Lamsont Wolff e ^ Company 


3 


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History of Canada.” With Chronological Chart, and 
Map of the Dominion of Canada and Newfoundland. 
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“The Viol of Love.” By Charles Newton Robinson 

^1.50, net 


4 


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“The Great Galeoto, and Folly or Saintliness,” By Jose 
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mann. Translated -by Charles- Edward Amory Wins- 
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by Anna von Rydingsvard . . . $1.25 


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“The Merry Maid of Arcady, His Lordship, and Other 
Stories.” By Mrs. Burton Harrison. Illustrated ;^i.5o 


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Burton Harrison . . . . . $1.25 

“Earth’s Enigmas.” By Charles G. D. Roberts $**25 


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“ Diomed : The Life, Travels, and Observations of a Dog.” 
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“ If Jesus Came to Boston.” By Edward Everett Hale .50 

‘'My Double and How He Undid Me.” By Edward 
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“’96 Charades.” By Norman D. Gray . . ^i.oo 

“Is Polite Society Polite? and Other Essays.” By Mrs. 
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“ Threads of Life.” By Clara Sherwood Rollins ^i.oo 

“ Orderly Book of General George Washington, Commander 
in Chief of the American Armies, kept at Valley Forge, 
18 May-ii June, 1778” . . . ^i.oo 



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